


On the Edge of Gold

by letterstothemoon



Series: Golden Days [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan is a Little Shit, M/M, Moon Taeil is a Saint, Slow Build, Slow Burn, actually everyone who deals with markhyuck has the patience of a saint, also kind of a disaster, but still very lovable, mark and donghyuck are SO petty, mark is oblivious, no beta we die like men, they are absolute clowns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26513959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letterstothemoon/pseuds/letterstothemoon
Summary: Lee Donghyuck has been a thorn in Mark’s side ever since they’d met all those years ago on the set ofGolden Days. Nine-years-old with an utterly flawless bowl cut and an attitude to match, Donghyuck had been what most would consider a cute kid. Maybe even angelic, if you were pushing it.But Mark had known better. Donghyuck was an absoluteterror.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan & Mark Lee, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Series: Golden Days [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927798
Comments: 74
Kudos: 176





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/epistolarymoon) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/letterstothemoon)!

[ENTER-TALK] Thoughts about the reunion of _Golden Days_?

Has everyone read the article about the return of the drama, _Golden Days_? It’s already been two years since the last episode, right? It felt like forever… I can’t believe they decided to do a follow-up miniseries… ah, I really miss the show and the cast—my Fridays were so empty without the weekly releases ㅠㅠ I wonder how the younger kids in the cast are doing now after their exams are over! Mark Lee how are you… Lee Donghyuck… ah, I’m so curious~ I’ve been re-watching all the older episodes now that I’ve heard the news—what about you all?

1\. [+1283, -237] It’s confirmed! The miniseries is going to start airing three months from today, I’m so excited… Can you believe that with this episode, it’ll be ten years since the first ever episode aired? We’ve really watched the kids grow up well. I wonder how it’s going to turn out… they can’t possibly continue with the same plotline as before… not when Lee Taeyong, Jung Jaehyun, and Bae Joohyun must have outgrown their high-school student roles. Maybe they’ll do a storyline about them in university? Plus, it’s only going to be ten episodes this ‘season’ unlike the previous twenty episodes… I hope it doesn’t feel too rushed!

2\. [+1163, -188] ㅋㅋㅋCan you imagine Jung Jaehyun in a high school uniform again when he grew to have such mature good looks ㅋㅋㅋI might actually enjoy that… Lee Taeyong too… so handsome~

3\. [+1075, -234] Have you seen those candids of Mark Lee? Where did that adorable little boy goㅠㅠ he’s really grown up to become a handsome young man… I also heard that Kim Yerim will have a big role in the coming season. She’s still young, and not as experienced as the other young members of the cast… but I hope she does well! Yerim, _hwaiting_!

4\. [+1063, - 132] After hearing the news I immediately re-watched the first season’s twenty episodes in less than three daysㅋㅋㅋ There’s no telling what will happen now in the drama… Hopefully they will have time to promote the drama with appearances on variety shows… really, Lee Donghyuck was so funny in earlier promotions! _Golden Days_ is my favorite drama of all time I can’t wait to freak out after every single episode ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

5\. [+123, - 1402] What the hellㅋㅋㅋ I thought that stupid drama finally f*cking ended for good… trash… who wants to watch this shit… Lee Taeyong, Jung Jaehyun, you are too good for thisㅠㅠ

6\. [+1210, -250] ㅋㅋㅋ Jealous loser coming out of the woodwork… lame~

~

The door slams open.

“It’s official,” Donghyuck announces grandly as he sweeps into Moon Taeil’s office, face pink with how hard he’s fuming, “either you get rid of Mark _freaking_ Lee, or I’m quitting. And we can’t have me quitting—I’m too important! Mr. Canada, on the other hand—”

Almost immediately after Donghyuck’s dramatic entrance, Mark storms in, door slamming open a second time and successfully cutting Donghyuck off: “ _Please_ , Taeil-hyung,” he begs, with somewhat of a frenzied look in his eyes, “ _please_ let me choke him out just this once.”

Taeil, weary director of hit drama, _Golden Days_ , gingerly removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. He sighs. “This is the fourth time that this has happened in this week alone, and it’s only _Tuesday_. What, pray tell, is the problem this time?”

All at once, the two boys begin to complain, voices getting exponentially louder as the seconds go on, jabbing accusing fingers at one another which somehow manages to accelerate into an incredibly juvenile slap-fight. Taeil closes his eyes and imagines that he is on vacation, maybe somewhere nice and sunny like Hawaii, and definitely far, _far_ away from the two demons who are currently making his life and job extremely difficult.

“Boys,” Taeil warns eyes still closed and already fighting back a persistent migraine, “don’t make me call your managers.”

“That threat stop working years ago,” points out Donghyuck, very crankily. “ _And_ it’s beside the point. The point is, Canada here is a giant piece of sh—”

“Do you hear that, hyung? All he does is hurl abuse at me day and night he’s beyond _insufferable_ —”

Taeil allows himself a moment to imagine an alternate reality where he had perhaps hired two different, far less difficult actors. Life would be so easy, then. He misses the days when the two of them were wide-eyed elementary schoolers and Mark had gap-teeth and braces and Donghyuck still had his cute little lisp.

“If that won’t work,” Taeil interrupts, and regrets everything in his past life he might have done to make the universe punish him like this, “ _Doyoung_!”

The two boys instantly shut up, both looking profoundly insulted, as if Taeil’s calling of Doyoung is a deeply personal offense.

“Hey,” sulks Donghyuck, but visibly shrinks back, “that’s not fair. Doyoung-hyung is _evil_.”

“That’s the point,” Taeil says. “Also, show the man some respect. He’s your boss.”

“But _you’re_ the director, hyung,” Mark points out, brows furrowed.

“Yes,” says Taeil, slowly, beginning to sort through next week’s script with purpose, “but Doyoung’s the head scriptwriter. Besides, who am I to stop him if he were to decide to…” Taeil smiles sweetly, “kill Hyunwoo and Minjae off?” It’s a threat with no real weight—of course Doyoung wouldn’t kill off Mark and Donghyuck’s characters—they’re two of the _main characters_ of the new season. But it’s not like the two boys are thinking that far ahead—

Donghyuck gasps, scandalized. He shrieks: “That’s… that’s _blackmail!_ ”

And at the same time Mark says: “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a simple truth,” answers Taeil. “Now scram.”

They listen. (Thank god for simple-minded, hot-headed boys with short attention spans, Taeil thinks.)

Taeil sighs, all the stress of talking with his two most difficult actors rushing out of him as he sinks back in his chair.

“I’m greying prematurely because of them,” he says sadly to his _#1 Dad in the World_ coffee mug that Yuta had gotten him as a joke three years ago. If only they weren’t such good actors. If only he didn’t love them like his own younger brothers. Taeil sighs.

Ten years ago, in Taeil’s final year at university, Kim Doyoung, a freshman at the time, had waltzed into his dorm, clenching a stack of paper nearly half a foot tall. He dropped the papers on Taeil’s desk, and said,

“I wrote a script for a drama—and we’re going to film it.”

The pilot episode had been one of Taeil’s final projects in university, and Lee Taeyong, the younger brother of one of Doyoung’s friends, and still in high school, had played the main role. It was one of the best filming experiences Taeil had ever had, but he hadn’t expected the project to go any further beyond the one episode—despite Doyoung’s insistence that his drama would really ‘make it in the real world’.

Then, at the screening in their university theatre, a wealthy woman had made her way to Taeil, and asked, with a flinty stare, “You directed this, right?” And when he nodded, she grabbed his hands and began to smile.

“My name is Kang Sujin,” she said, “and I want to turn your project into a real drama.”

Taeil had blinked at her, so surprised that he’d temporarily forgotten how to talk.

“Please,” she continued. “You, your scriptwriter… and the boy who played Joonhyung, the main character… I want you to continue filming. I’ll fund the entire affair—you won’t have to worry about the costs at all. I want to hand you and your writer all the creative reigns. I’ll be producer in name only.”

Taeil had looked at her uncertainly, almost entirely sure that he was getting scammed, and she had handed him a sleek business card.

“Please think about it,” she said, warmly, and smiled again. “Call this number if you have any questions, I’ll be happy to discuss any issues you might have over coffee.”

Then Taeil had spent the weekend agonizing over what the right decision was, and also about eighty percent sure that it was a scam, until Doyoung had swept into his dorm all over again and said, “When else are you going to get another opportunity like this? I’m willing. Taeyong’s willing. You’ll graduate after a semester anyways—doing this now is the best thing that could ever happen to us.”

And that was that.

Sujin hadn’t been lying when she’d said that she’d be producer in name only—the bank behind it all. Her only requirement had been that she get to sit in on filming, and that she would have some say on casting. It was a deal that Taeil had only dreamed of, in the past.

Whether it was the luck of the draw or something even greater, the first episode of _Golden Days_ had been so well-received by the general public that the actors in the drama itself immediately found themselves in the spotlight.

Taeil had been twenty-two when filming started. The youngest core members of the cast, Donghyuck and Mark, had been nine and ten. Ten years gone and hundreds of episodes later, _Golden Days_ had become a monster in the realm of dramas when it came to popularity, ratings, and sheer length. Donghyuck and Mark had grown up. Taeil had grown up, and along with them all, _Golden Days_ had matured.

After a two-year hiatus, _Golden Days_ would return to the public eye, and Taeil would not let it fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/epistolarymoon) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/letterstothemoon)!


	2. Chapter 2

**[EXCERPT]** **_Golden Days_ ** **Cast Interview**

Two months before _Golden Days’_ long-awaited return to the small screen, cast members Lee Taeyong, Jung Jaehyun, Bae Joohyun, and Kim Yerim come together for a group interview to share their thoughts about the drama itself and how filming has been going so far.

 **Interviewer** : _Cha Heewon_

**Interviewee(s):** _Lee Taeyong, Jung Jaehyun, Bae Joohyun, Kim Yerim_

**Interview Setting** : _Interview conducted on the set of Golden Days, in the set lounge. The interview was conducted at 9:30 AM on Thursday morning._

 **Interviewer** : Good morning! I hope you’re all feeling well. My name is Cha Heewon, and I’ll be your interviewer today. Your fans have a lot of questions that we’ll hopefully get to touch on today.

 **Joohyun:** We’re excited to be here, thank you for having us.

 **Interviewer:** Now, for the first question. What did you feel when you found out about the decision to revive _Golden Days_ two years after its supposed end?

 **Jaehyun** : I, well. Taeyong-hyung and I were actually having lunch together when we got the call… I don’t know about him, but I was so shocked I dropped my spoon on the floor and scattered the side-dishes everywhere. [ _Jaehyun laughs_ ] I definitely got yelled at for that.

 **Taeyong** : I was very surprised, but yes, I did scold Jaehyun for making a mess, so the news didn’t really hit me until much later. It felt like a dream. I renewed my contract pretty much immediately.

 **Joohyun** : I was ecstatic! The set of _Golden Days_ has always felt like a second home to me. It’s always been the cornerstone of my acting career. To be given the opportunity to return was amazing news. [ _Joohyun laughs_ ] I called my parents and my mother made a giant pot of seaweed soup because she said it felt like a birthday.

 **Yerim** : When Taeil-oppa told me that _Golden Days_ was coming back, and that they wanted to renew my contract, I cried. I was so happy. I didn’t think that I’d be fortunate enough to have the opportunity, especially since my character, Sunmin, wasn’t part of the core cast. Not to give any spoilers for the upcoming season, but please expect more appearances from Lee Sunmin!

 **Interviewer** : You all sound very enthusiastic—almost as excited as the public, it seems! Now, I’m sure the fans are wondering, where are the youngest of the cast, Mark Lee and Lee Donghyuck, today?

 **Taeyong** : Mark and Donghyuck are actually doing a cold reading right now. They’re working hard to show the best of their abilities to the public!

 **Jaehyun** : Yes, they’re working very hard. 

~

“And, _cut_ ,” Mark’s stomach sinks as Taeil motions for the camera to stop rolling. “Mark, what’s up? I’m not feeling any of what you’re putting on the table, and I know you aren’t, either. Also, Donghyuck, don’t think I can’t see you laughing at him.”

Taeil isn’t wrong. For most of the morning, even though it’s just the cold-reading, Mark’s been delivering the flattest performance of his _life_ , much to Donghyuck’s visible glee. Taeil’s general rule of thumb is that they have to be in-character during the cold reading, if only because it’s easier for him to ask for adjustments before filming actually starts—and Mark is, quite honestly, doing a terrible job.

Rather than frustration, the feeling is just _bizarre_. It’s strange, being back on set, practicing lines with Donghyuck after all this time. As much as it sucks to admit, Mark’s grown used to the mundanity of everyday life. It’s almost as if he’s forgotten how to act entirely. Unlike Mark, though, for the past two years since the initial end of _Golden Days_ , Donghyuck’s been in project after project—the perfect environment for him to grow, improve, become _better_ than Mark.

Instead, Mark’s spent the past two years completely focused on school, per his parents’ wishes. Luckily, he’d managed to just scrape together enough credits to graduate, but it had taken a toll. School was exhausting in a different way—he’d loved it, all the same—but now, being thrown back into the realm of acting, he feels like a regular fish out of water.

For the first time since Mark has been in acting, he feels like he’s falling behind.

Mark hasn’t spoken to Donghyuck in over two years—and although he’s seen him on screen rarely (also rather grudgingly), he still finds himself entirely unprepared to see him face-to-face, let alone _work_ with him.

Donghyuck’s lost weight. Slimmer around the cheeks, sharper around the jaw. His hair’s been dyed to a softer caramel color, warm against his tan skin. He hasn’t grown much taller, but he’s grown _into_ himself, clear in the way he sits, confident, draped artfully in his chair.

And yet, the horrendous attitude is exactly the same as it had been, two years ago. He still smirks the same way: one side of his mouth tilted higher. “C’mon, Canada,” Donghyuck drawls, and tilts his head back and to the side, peering at Mark from under dark lashes. “I thought you were better than this… I’ve already lowered my expectations so far, I was thinking you couldn’t _possibly_ prove me wrong and do even worse, but I guess I was wrong—”

“Shut up,” Mark hisses, and Donghyuck only blinks innocently back at him, and although the younger boy isn’t smiling, the set of his mouth makes it clear enough that he finds Mark’s string of failures utterly hilarious.

“Play nice, boys,” Taeil interrupts, and he’s frowning, the same sad little frown he used to always have whenever Mark and Donghyuck were getting too disruptive. It feels familiar. “And Donghyuck, please. Minjae’s always been a genuine, earnest character, you’re making him out to be a little too sarcastic in this scene.”

“Earnest?” Donghyuck snorts. “Aren’t you forgetting that this season he falls completely off the wagon?”

“With good _reason_ ,” Doyoung, who’s sitting beside Taeil, cuts him off irritably, flipping his script closed. “We’ve talked about this, Donghyuck. But that’s beside the point, anyways. We’re covering an earlier scene, and Minjae is still very much a good, _sweet_ boy. And Mark, I don’t know what the hell’s up with you, but you need to get it together.” He hands his script over to Jungwoo. “You know what? I think that’s enough for today, if you have no objections, Taeil.”

“No,” Taeil says, and purses his lips. “I think we could do with a few hours’ break, but I want everyone back here at two p.m., on the dot. Feel free to have an early lunch.” He snaps his notebook shut. “Mark, Donghyuck, I think you’d both benefit from running your lines. _Together._ ” Before Mark and Donghyuck can even protest, Taeil adds sharply: “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“That’s so unfair,” Donghyuck wails, jolting upright as soon as Taeil, Doyoung, and Jungwoo leave the room. “It’s not _my_ fault you forgot how to _act_!”

Mark can’t even muster up any real anger. Donghyuck is right, after all, which in itself is already frustrating enough. He stares down at his script, somewhere between aggravated and ashamed.

“Well?” Donghyuck prompts, sulkily, folding his arms across his chest, and Mark startles. “Read your stupid lines—let’s run through the script.”

Donghyuck’s mouth is pursed into a pout so that his cheeks puff out, and he’s just a little bit flushed with irritation. Any prior affectation at suave charm has dissipated to a petulant immaturity that is endlessly familiar. Mark looks down at his script and feels the strange impulse to smile. The thought has him feeling weird, off-balance, just as the cold-reading had—it’s outright bizarre _._

Mark flips back to the start of the script. “Oh, hey, Minjae,” he says, “I didn’t see you there.”

“Ugh,” says Donghyuck, and drops his face into his palms, muffling the rest of his complaining. “Taeil was right. You’re so… wooden.” He looks up, frowning at Mark now, mouth twisted into something small and displeased. “How on earth did you get so _bad_?”

“Christ,” mutters Mark. “No need to be subtle about it or anything, I guess.”

Donghyuck scoffs. “It’s not like you don’t know how to act—but whatever’s going on with you right now? Get over it.”

And god, is it really that simple for Donghyuck? Can he just tell himself ‘get over it’ and have it _work_? Mark stares at the younger boy, completely speechless.

“Haven’t you ever had off days?” He manages, after a moment. He wants to sound angry, wants to pick a fight with Donghyuck, but instead the words come out defeated.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Sure. But I work _through_ them. Jesus. Mark Lee, this is your _job_. Get it together—this isn’t about you; this is about _Golden Days_ and how your inability is holding everyone back.” Donghyuck sneers, and leans back in his chair, all long limbs and a heavy-lidded stare. “I don’t care what Taeil said. I’m not running your lines with you right now. It’s pointless when you’re like this, anyway.” He pushes up and away from the table and takes his script with him.

Mark is left alone at the table, staring down at his own lines that don’t even look like words anymore. He feels like an absolute failure. It’s strange, really. He shouldn’t be struggling as much as he is now; this is Kim Hyunwoo, the character he’d grown up playing, a character he’d met at ten-years-old—half a _lifetime_ ago—when he was still new to the sensation of becoming someone else. As much as he’s Mark Lee, actor extraordinaire, he’s Kim Hyunwoo too, isn’t he?

Although, it’s not as though this creeping sense of self-doubt had appeared out of thin air. When Mark got the call a month ago, asking if he’d be open to a surprise follow-up miniseries for _Golden Days_ , he’d only just graduated high school and was at somewhat of a loss. Of course, he was still signed under SM Entertainment, but as he’d held his diploma after years of on-and-off studying, he’d figured that he had arrived at what people might call ‘a crossroads’. _This_ was the point where he was supposed to be thinking seriously about what he wanted.

When Mark had graduated—miraculously, even though he’d only managed it nearly two whole years later than his peers—his parents had taken him out for a celebratory lunch.

“You know we’ll support you in whatever you do, right, Minhyung?” His mother had said to him, sweet and a little apprehensive. “If you want to act, that’s good. If you want to pursue college, or something else entirely, that’s good too. We just want you to be happy with what you do in the future, and for you to stay healthy.”

Mark had stared at them, looking at the way their warm, anxious faces turned to him. Expectant. Waiting. He’d opened his mouth… except nothing came out. He had sat there for several long, silent moments, before he’d finally managed a quiet: “I. I _don’t know_.”

It was frustrating, but… neither one of his parents had pushed him for a decision. And that was that.

He’d spent the following few weeks in some sort of daze, half-aware of his surroundings at any given time. While making a bowl of cereal, he would pour milk to the point of it overflowing, absentminded and far too caught up in a litany of insecurities and anxieties about the uncertain nature of his future.

What if no one ever hired him for anything after _Golden Days_? What if he’d already been typecast, doomed to be Kim Hyunwoo forever? Objectively he knew the chances of that happening were relatively low—he was at a well-respected agency, with a good manager, and he _had_ received offers for other roles following the initial end of _Golden Days_. Even after he took a two-year hiatus to finish high school, he’d had offers.

And yet. He just didn’t _know._

But then the call had come, three weeks after he officially graduated, and it was Taeil’s name that blinked across the screen.

Mark had said yes to returning and renewing his contract so easily because even though he had considered the idea that maybe he was meant for different things, that maybe he _wasn’t_ cut out to be an actor, he still loved his job. He’d realized, with a sickening sense of clarity, as he’d heard Taeil’s gentle voice on the other end of the line, that he hadn’t been ready to let go of Kim Hyunwoo, of _actor_ Mark Lee.

But two years without working was a big gap—and acting had never come easily to Mark. Although he loved it, much of his ability came from working at it with a stubbornness that bordered reckless abandonment at times. He wasn’t a ‘natural’ by any means, but he’d been lucky enough to have come across the opportunities that he had, with a work ethic that pushed him forward in everything he did.

And ultimately, Mark doesn’t exactly regret that decision, really, it’s just that—

“ _Mark Lee_ ,” Donghyuck complains, dragging out the last syllable as long as he possibly can, and successfully interrupting Mark’s train of thought. “Are you coming or not? We have to run _lines_ ,” and Donghyuck says everything in this annoying, lilting sort of voice, where Mark still isn’t sure if he’s whining on purpose or if he really just sounds like that naturally.

Eight years working with Lee Donghyuck and ten years knowing him should have made the younger boy more bearable. It did not.

“I thought you didn’t want to deal with me,” Mark says, unimpressed, eyeing where Donghyuck is leaning against the doorframe.

“I _don’t_ want to deal with you,” Donghyuck confirms, and then sweeps fully back into the room. He’s as dramatic as ever. “It’s just that I actually like Taeil, and even if _you’re_ bound to disappoint him, _I_ don’t plan on being anywhere near as lame.”

“Great,” Mark mutters, under his breath. “ _Fantastic_.”

He takes a moment to gather his wits, feeling distinctly like he’s heading straight to the jaws of a very deadly viper, and then stands to follow Donghyuck out the studio.

Lee Donghyuck has changed in a myriad of ways—countless, really—Mark decides, but in all the ways that actually matter, he’s stayed exactly the same.

Lee Donghyuck has been a thorn in Mark’s side ever since they’d met all those years ago, on the set of _Golden Days_. Nine-years-old with an utterly flawless bowl-cut and an attitude to match, Donghyuck had been what most would consider a cute kid. Maybe even angelic, if you were pushing it.

But Mark knew better. Donghyuck was an absolute _terror_.

He’d spent all their formative years making life exceptionally difficult for Mark—through pointed jabs and jeers—and seemed to take pride in the fact that he knew exactly which buttons to press to get Mark seething. For all that Lee Donghyuck was a prodigal actor, he was an even bigger nuisance, and had latched onto Mark as a target almost immediately after meeting him.

Mark remembers meeting him for the first time vividly.

Donghyuck had been cute and pint-sized, with eyes that curved into crescents when he smiled. And he’d certainly had an adorable smile, heart-shaped with his two front teeth missing. There had been a hot pink Band-Aid stuck to his right cheekbone. And unlike Mark, he’d seemed immediately comfortable on set, not even needing to hold his mom’s hand (which, for nervous ten-year-old Mark Lee, was Really Impressive). Donghyuck had instantly warmed to Taeyong, Jaehyun, and the rest of the cast and crew.

Mark had been excited when Taeil had told him that there would be another boy around his age on set, and when Mark had first seen Donghyuck in person he’d really, really wanted to be his friend. Donghyuck was bright and energetic and endlessly loud—but most people seemed content to listen to his rambling in that high, fluting voice of his, because his happiness was contagious.

Steeling himself, Mark had walked all the way over to where Donghyuck had already surrounded himself with the doting older members of the cast.

He already had his hand half-extended, in preparation of a handshake.

“Hi, I’m Mark—”

“Ah, what’s this?” Donghyuck had chirped, mercilessly interrupting Mark, as his smile dipped into something shrewder, “Your braces are _super_ ugly.”

Mark had withdrawn his hand, aghast, face flushing with embarrassment. Even as Taeyong gently chided Donghyuck, managing to wring an insincere apology out of him, it was clear that he wasn’t sorry at all.

And it had only spiraled from there.

“Where are we going?” Mark demands, needing to jog to catch up to Donghyuck.

“If I’m going to have to sit through your embarrassing attempts at acting, I might as well treat myself to some coffee,” Donghyuck says carelessly, and glances over only to leer at Mark’s frown.

“Dude,” Mark complains. “Your personality is actually terrible. You really haven’t mellowed out in these past two years _at all_.”

“Now why would I want to do that?” Donghyuck drawls, and spins so that he’s walking backwards, spreading his arms and looking endlessly smug. “There’s no use in attempting to change perfection.”

“You’re impossible,” Mark scowls. “Seriously.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Donghyuck trills—Christ, he’s so annoying _—_ and spins back around.

He leads them to the coffee shop just across the street, one of those pretentious hipster-y sort of places with drinks like charcoal coffee and _herbal infusions._ It’s very on-brand of him.

The coffee shop is small and cozy with a deliberately rustic interior, characterized by unpolished wood and arguably far too many plants. Donghyuck leads them to the counter, and Mark stares, totally lost, at the menu. He sees drinks like _Blue Algae Latte_ , and _Deconstructed Mocha with Mylk_ , and wishes, desperately, that they had gone to Starbucks instead.

“ _Guh_ ,” he says.

Donghyuck sighs, longsuffering. “Oh, whatever, go sit down, I’ll get you something.” Under his breath, he adds: “I really have to do everything around here, don’t I?”

Mark rolls his eyes, but is secretly thankful for the offer, because he really does not need to be even more embarrassed today, _thank you very much._

He ends up sitting in a corner booth, tucked away behind several draping green plants, and right by the window. It really is a nice space—and he’s glad that there doesn’t seem to be many customers. Maybe most people are sane, and don’t much enjoy things like _Rainbow-Mold-Deconstructed-Latte-Random-Hipster-Drinks._

While waiting for Donghyuck to get their order, Mark flips through the script again. Today they’re going to be filming a scene for the very first episode—and while the first episode consists most heavily of Jaehyun, Taeyong, and Joohyun, he and Donghyuck are featured in the last fifteen or so minutes.

For a role he’s played for the better part of his life, the Hyunwoo in this script feels unfamiliar. Like Mark, he too has had the past two years to grow and mature and become someone entirely different. This sense of disconnect is new to Mark, and he can’t say that he’s a fan of the feeling.

A few minutes later: “Here you go,” Donghyuck announces, with a dramatic flourish, and shoves a grey mug at Mark so aggressively it nearly tips all over his lap. “4500 won—4000 for the coffee, with an additional service charge of 500 for the extra effort I had to go through to get it for you.”

He looks at Mark, palm held out expectantly.

“Stingy,” Mark grumbles, but moves to pull his wallet out anyways. “What’d you get me?”

“Iced latte because I know you’re boring and lactose intolerant,” Donghyuck says sweetly, and tilts his head to smile blandly.

“ _Dude_.”

“Ugh, don’t be lame,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, dropping the fake smile. “It’s oat milk— _oat milk_. I’m not exactly keen on sitting through another round of you shitting your pants, either.”

“That was _one time_!” Mark cries, and feels his ears flush traitorously. “And I had food poisoning!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Donghyuck waves him off, and pulls his own drink closer to his chest. Unlike Mark’s plain latte, the monstrosity in front of Donghyuck is piled high with whipped cream and what looks like chocolate and strawberry syrup, topped off with an ungodly amount of rainbow sprinkles.

Mark gestures at it. “Planning on death by sugar overdose?”

Donghyuck only makes a face, scrunching his nose and sticking his tongue out. _Immature_. “Bleh, as if I don’t already know that you physically aren’t capable of appreciating the finer things in life, Canada. Unlike you, I actually have _taste_.”

Mark can only grimace in response. Donghyuck is, quite possibly, the most annoying person on the planet, he decides. He has never met anyone as infuriating, and it’s only getting _worse_ with time.

“Well?” Donghyuck prompts, folding his arms across his chest. He looks at Mark, arching one perfectly plucked brow. “Aren’t we gonna run lines?”

“Uh,” Mark says, flustered at being caught unawares, curling his fingers around the edges of his script. “Yeah, of course.”

He watches as Donghyuck mockingly mouths _yeah, of course_ , and bites back a scathing retort. _Mark Lee you are better than this_ , he tells himself. (That, unfortunately, is probably not true.)

Flipping to the first page, Mark takes a deep breath, and begins.

“Oh, hey, Minjae. I didn’t see you there.”

It’s incredible, really, watching the shift from _Lee Donghyuck_ to _Kang Minjae_ —a genuine, visible transformation, maybe in the set of Donghyuck’s shoulders, or the flickering of his lashes. It’s subtle, but palpable.

“Maybe it’s about time you invested in glasses then, old man,” Donghyuck’s all professionalism and efficiency, mouth curling around a gentle smile, his voice dropping to the soft, pleasing register that had become characteristic of his portrayal of Kang Minjae.

“I’m only four months older than you, you know,” Mark continues stiffly, and Donghyuck lets out a near-inaudible sigh. The sigh is somehow infinitely worse than anything else he could’ve done. Lee Donghyuck is loud and blunt and _aggravating_ , but the fact that he hadn’t cut Mark off with a whiny complaint somehow cuts deeper than anything else would’ve. It bothers Mark, how much it gets under his skin.

He snaps, “ _What_?” and Donghyuck raises his eyebrows again.

“I didn’t say anything, Canada.” Donghyuck feigns disinterest, leaning back in his seat and picking at the edges of his fingernails. His sugary atrocity sits untouched beside him.

“You sighed.”

“What, I can’t even breathe now?”

“You know that’s not what I meant!” Mark retorts. “If you have a problem with me then say it, Donghyuck, stop acting so pretentious.”

“I was _trying_ ,” Donghyuck begins, deliberately slow, and his usual showy smile is nowhere to be seen, “to not hurt your feelings, because we all know you’re,” he pauses, then holds his hands up to make finger-quotes, “ _sensitive_.”

God does Mark want to _throttle_ him.

“ _Donghyuck_.”

“Alright, whatever—if that’s what you want,” the tension seems to deliberately drain out of Donghyuck as he makes for an unaffected shrug. “I’ll tell you when you’re doing a crappy job.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“ _Amazing_.”

“Ugh, you’re the lamest person alive,” Donghyuck groans, although it seems as though the corners of his mouth are beginning to tilt upwards.

They end up running all the way through their scene, going over it a good four or five times before Donghyuck deems Mark ‘barely passable’—which, Mark really should be upset at that, but he figures that Donghyuck is accurate enough on that front. Today is just not a great day, but he’s got his fingers crossed in hopes that he’ll get into the swing of things soon enough.

And it might seem surprising that they were even able to get so far—but no matter how much Mark dislikes Donghyuck, he _has_ worked alongside him for years. Contrary to popular belief, the two of them are in fact capable of affecting civility. On occasion.

Nearly two hours later, Donghyuck calls time. “Alright, break,” he lifts his arms up, miming an X. “Time out, time out. Ten minutes before we have to go back on set, so finish your drink.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Mark asks, because honestly, he could do with a sandwich at this point, but Donghyuck points to his drink.

“Why do you think I got this bad boy?” He brings it up to his mouth and takes a long, overdramatic draught, complete with obnoxious gulping noises. Mark wrinkles his nose. When Donghyuck puts the drink back down, there’s a line of whipped cream all over his upper lip.

“Nice mustache,” Mark says mildly.

“You can try and shame me, Mark Lee. It won’t work, because I know I’m super cute.”

“Ah, I forgot. You have no sense of shame.”

Donghyuck only smirks as he wipes his mouth clean. He stands, stretching his arms lazily over his head in a way that he _must_ know makes him look statuesque. “You say that like it’s a _bad_ thing, Canada.”

Mark finds that he has no suitable response.

By the time they return to set, Mark feels as though he’s beginning to settle in his skin, the strange buzzing restlessness that had made him uncomfortable and anxious earlier has settled into a dull thrum, so that his hands are steady, and he feels only vaguely out of place.

“Are we ready to start rolling?” Taeil claps his hands together when he sees Mark and Donghyuck. “No bickering, you two. We’ll dive right in—if you’re ready?”

“Oh, stop babying them, Taeil-hyung,” Yuta interjects, from where he’s kneeling behind the camera. “They’ll be fine. Let’s just start filming.”

Taeil shoots Yuta a betrayed look. “Stop undermining my authority, Yuta!”

Donghyuck snickers, holding a hand to cover his mouth. “Ah, you’re so cute, hyung,” he coos, and slinks forward to wrap his arms around Taeil’s shoulders.

Taeil sighs, resigned. “Ah, why did you get taller than me when you’re over a decade younger than me… How unfair!”

There’s always a definite sense of wrongness watching Donghyuck interact with the rest of the world outside of Mark—complete and total whiplash—simply because he suddenly _isn’t_ the most obnoxious person alive and is instead just a bubbly (if not rather clingy) boy with a sunny disposition. It’s frustrating, knowing that for some reason, Mark had done something to incur Donghyuck’s wrath all that time ago, a resentment that has endured for just over a decade.

Brushing the thought off, Mark moves to get in position on the set. He takes a deep breath. He can do this. He _can_.

… He can’t.

Filming goes about as disastrously as the cold reading had, and Taeil wraps up filming for the day with maybe two useable takes, expression a little pinched even as he tries to send Mark a reassuring smile. As he walks past, Donghyuck rams his shoulder against Mark in a purposeful, practiced move that would usually infuriate him, but somehow now he feels almost hollow with embarrassment. Donghyuck takes pause at Mark’s non-reaction, frowning as if he’s confused but doesn’t want to ask.

“Mark, can I speak to you?” Taeil asks. “Just for a little bit.”

“ _Someone’s_ in trouble,” Donghyuck sneers under his breath, and Mark reaches out (as is the routine) to smack Donghyuck’s shoulder. Donghyuck only laughs, open-mouthed and grating, as he grabs his backpack and leaves. Lucky bastard gets to go home now, probably.

Mark prays, instead, for his own demise.

There’s a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach as he follows Taeil to his office. Compounded with the humiliation of the past afternoon, it’s safe to say that he’s not feeling super great about, well, anything. His feet feel heavy, like he isn’t capable of doing anything more than plod along. Mark doesn’t want to get scolded, but it’s inevitable. The situation is only made worse because he _also_ has no idea what the fuck is the matter with him.

“Don’t look so grim,” Taeil says, as he closes the door behind them. “I’m not mad.”

Mark groans, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “Is this where you say: ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed?’ Because that’s worse. That is so, so much worse.”

Surprisingly enough, Taeil laughs. “Not that, either. I just wanted to check in on you, kiddo. I know it’s been two years since you’ve last worked on any projects, so a slow start is to be expected. Not to mention,” Taeil shoots Mark a sly look, “I know how Donghyuck tends to get under your skin, so I figure everything you’re feeling has to have been exacerbated.”

“Ugh, you don’t even know the half of it,” Mark complains. “Hyung, he’s _so_ annoying. I can’t believe I’ve managed to work with him for so long without actually strangling him. You know, when I was on my hiatus, I was all like, _Mark, you’re probably exaggerating things! Donghyuck probably isn’t even as bad as you’re remembering._ And you know what, Taeil-hyung? I was wrong. So wrong. Hiatus Mark was an idiot, because Donghyuck isn’t as bad as I remembered, he’s _worse_.” And Mark doesn’t even get why Donghyuck bothers him so much—no one else in the world does—but he does, and nothing gets Mark more riled up than ranting about Donghyuck.

Taeil’s smiling at him, something warm and fond in his expression. “Glad to see you’re both still as spirited as ever.”

Mark flushes. “Sorry. I, uh. Got a little carried away.”

“Oh, not at all,” Taeil waves him off. “It’s fantastic getting to listen—it feels like I’m young again!”

“Aw, you’re not old, hyung.”

“Kid, I’m turning thirty-two this year. That’s practically ancient in your book.”

Mark laughs and feels the stress of the day officially seep out of him. He adores Taeil—always has. Taeil has always been a gentle, grounding presence on the set of _Golden Days_ , supportive and positive. He’s always made Mark’s insecurities feel inconsequential, because there’s just something about Moon Taeil that says: _it’s okay if you’re not sure. We’ll get through it together._

“But yeah, I’m really sorry about today, Taeil-hyung. I don’t know what’s wrong with me—playing Hyunwoo just felt… strange.” Mark bites his bottom lip, twisting his fingers into the hem of his shirt.

“Strange? In what way?”

“I dunno. Like, before my hiatus or whatever, back when _Golden Days_ was still officially airing, whenever I played Hyunwoo it was always… easy. Like, Hyunwoo always was kinda similar to my actual personality, y’know? Not like Donghyuck and Minjae—y’know, because Minjae is actually like, nice or whatever—so it’s always been sort of easy to get ‘in character’? But now… I guess I’ve changed, or matured, or something like that, or maybe I’m just really rusty, but Hyunwoo doesn’t feel familiar. He doesn’t feel like an extension of my own personality anymore.”

Taeil makes a sound of understanding. “Ah, I think I understand.” He pauses for a few moments, looking thoughtful. “I think you’re overthinking things, Mark, and it’s making you freeze up. It feels like you’re chasing after this perfect interpretation of Hyunwoo that existed two years ago—but you said it yourself. You’ve grown, matured. So has Hyunwoo. I think it’s perfectly fine to mold Hyunwoo to the you of today, rather than worrying about the you of two years ago.”

“Ah, but, Donghyuck…” Mark trails off, uncertain of how to continue. How is he supposed to say: _but Donghyuck adapted so easily, why is it only me that’s losing it?_

“Don’t compare yourself to Donghyuck,” Taeil shakes his head, successfully cutting Mark off. “You two are different people, and you approach acting differently. While you tend to analyze what’s on the paper and try to bring it to life, Donghyuck’s what you would call a method actor. He really tries to get into the head of whoever he’s playing. He treats it like a challenge, I suppose. You two use vastly different strategies, so it’s inevitable that you’ll come across pitfalls where he wouldn’t, and the opposite is true, too. Besides, you’ve been on hiatus to finish school, while he’s been working non-stop. It’s only natural that you’ll feel a little unpracticed.”

“Wow, you’ve really thought this through, huh…”

Taeil smiles at Mark, encouragingly. “I don’t want you to feel discouraged from today. We all have our off days, so it isn’t a big deal. We did end up with useable takes today too, so don’t feel as though today was a waste!” He touches Mark’s shoulder, smile ever warm. “Take the rest of the day to unwind, and then come back tomorrow feeling better, okay, kiddo?”

“Yeah,” Mark nods fervently. There’s no way he’s going to come in tomorrow with the same horrible, awkward feeling. “Definitely. Thanks, Taeil-hyung. You’re the best.”

“Of course,” Taeil says, and pointedly picks up his _#1 Dad in the World_ coffee mug to take a sip.

~

On the drive home, Mark thinks about the past two years. While it isn’t that he’d stagnated or anything depressing like that, it certainly was strange to go from a schedule that was always a mess to the same daily routine—and while his classmates had started off a little starry-eyed, it seemed like Mark’s ‘celeb effect’ wore off quickly enough, so he was able to get through his last years of high school without much fanfare.

He hasn’t yet moved out from his parent’s house, because following the sudden stability of his daily routine, his parents had jumped at the chance to spend more time with him at home. And it was nice. It really, really was. Mark doesn’t regret his hiatus. Sure, he’s a little worried about work now, but ultimately taking a break from being on-screen had been a good, healthy respite.

His thoughts turn to someone who, in contrast, had probably experienced the busiest time of his career over the course of the past two years.

Lee Donghyuck.

While Mark never actively followed Donghyuck’s career, his mother liked to casually keep up with his colleagues (and various other sorts of vague celebrity gossip) and had kept Mark updated whenever Donghyuck was filming a new project. And it had seemed, to Mark, who had grown used to the steady—if not a little monotonous—humdrum of school, that Donghyuck was _always_ filming a new project.

In hindsight, maybe it’s a little strange that Mark never bothered to look for, let alone _watch,_ any of the projects that Donghyuck had worked on. He’s seen at least some of whatever projects Jaehyun, Taeyong, and Joohyun participated in, and had made it a point to follow news about Doyoung and Taeil in their endeavors. But somehow, Mark never thought to even look up Donghyuck’s name, to see what the media was saying, to see how he’d grown up.

To be honest, once filming had ended, and Mark was finally, blissfully free of the demon that was Lee Donghyuck, he’d spent little time dwelling on the younger boy. It was only through random conversations with his mother or peers that Donghyuck was ever mentioned, and Mark certainly never bothered with any follow-up.

Now, though, after seeing him in person for the first time in two years, Mark’s feeling a little curious (and a lot annoyed, if he’s being perfectly honest).

By the time he pulls into the parking lot of his apartment complex, he’s oscillating between his desire to pry into Donghyuck’s life, and the narcissistic, self-respecting part of him that insists he doesn’t _need_ to snoop. However, Mark is a weak, weak man, and it’s definitely the former half that triumphs.

“Ma, I’m home!” Mark shucks off his shoes at the doorway, slinging his bag atop the shoe-rack at the entryway.

“Ah, Minhyung,” she calls. “I’m in the kitchen, come here!”

There’s the smell of grilling meat—it’s one of the traditions Mark’s mom had settled on when Mark had first been cast as Kim Hyunwoo: grilling some good quality meat every time a new season of filming began. She says it’s for Mark’s sake, but he’s mostly certain that she just likes the excuse to celebrate and eat good food. He can’t complain, though, it’s a pretty sweet deal.

“It’s too bad your dad didn’t find us a place with a balcony; my hair’s going to smell like meat,” Mark’s mom is saying, even before Mark enters the kitchen. It’s an age-old complaint, hardly serious, about how Mark’s dad has always preferred an apartment in the city rather than a house in the suburbs—even when they lived in Canada—so they’ve never had a yard or balcony.

“Smells great, mom,” Mark says placatingly, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. She clicks her tongue and swats him out of the way, smiling all the while. “Is dad home yet?”

“He’ll be back in about half an hour, he said, although who knows with that man,” Mark’s mom shakes her head good-naturedly. “How was your first day back at work, sweetie?”

“Ugh, it was _awful_ ,” he groans, leaning against the counter. “I mean, it was great to see everyone again—not Donghyuck—but I dunno, I’ve gotten so rusty, so today just felt _off_. I for sure thought Taeil-hyung was gonna yell at me, it was that bad.”

“I’m sure you’re being too critical of yourself,” Mark’s mom sighs, and pats his cheek. “And don’t think I didn’t miss that ‘not Donghyuck’ business, young man!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, _be the bigger person, Minhyung_ ,” Mark rolls his eyes. “It’s just not _possible_ with him, y’know? He’s terrible. The worst. Really, really awful.”

“He’s always so sweet when I see him, in person and on TV, you know,” Mark’s mom hums, even as she gestures for Mark to start setting the table.

“That’s a façade, mom, it’s _fake_! Lee Donghyuck is a demon, I swear.”

“Alright, alright, if you say so,” she laughs, absolutely not taking him seriously, and pets his head, like he hasn’t been half a foot taller than her for over five years. “Let’s just start eating, it’s your dad’s fault if he’s late and misses all the good food.”

They have a good dinner; Mark’s dad shows up fifteen minutes later and makes a big fuss about them starting without him, but in the end produces a box of cookies for them to share in celebration of Mark’s first day back on set. Conversation is relaxed, shifting away from Mark’s time filming, and instead settling on the weird guy two floors down from Mark’s dad in the office.

After dinner, Mark retreats to the privacy of his bedroom, grabbing his laptop so that he can make a fort under the covers and pretend like he’s absolutely not going to be watching videos of Lee Donghyuck.

Under his blankets, Mark hovers over the search bar for a moment, and thinks: _am I really going to do this?_ Yes, yes, he is. He types: _Lee Donghyuck_ , and hits enters, holding his breath. A split second, and a slew of results flash across his screen. The very first is his profile on his agency’s page, and Mark clicks it, thinking that he’ll probably find a list of projects Donghyuck’s been in.

He’s not disappointed.

 _Lee Donghyuck_ , the profile reads in big, blocky letters, beside a picture of the person in question. It’s an objectively good picture, Mark is loath to admit. He’s dressed in a loose baby blue button-up, the top two buttons undone. His hair, this time a honey blond, is windswept. He’s staring off into the middle distance, looking far more serious and mature than Mark has probably ever seen him.

Mark keeps reading.

_Lee Donghyuck is an actor, born June 6, 2000. He was first scouted at age eight, when he accompanied his younger twin sister to idol auditions. His first official role was a cameo in the film ‘Ocean Blue’._

It’s basic information—inconsequential, really, so Mark keeps scrolling until he finds the list of projects.

**Television**

2009-2018: _Golden Days,_ as Kang Minjae

2018: _Storm Stories,_ as Yoo Chanwook

2019: _Heaven’s Edge,_ as Park Jinho

2019: _Phantom Academy,_ as In Junghwa

2020-Present: _Golden Days (Miniseries),_ as Kang Minjae

**Film**

2008: _Ocean Blue,_ as Lee Kangdae

2018: _Hush,_ as Kim Wonshik

2018: _Legend,_ as Da So

2018: _Silent House,_ as Cha Minki

2019: _Lonely Detective,_ as Jung Yongsan

2019: _Soul Report,_ as Jeon Yeongsoo

What the hell? As Mark scrolls, he finds that the ‘television’ and ‘film’ sections aren’t even a comprehensive list of all of the projects Donghyuck had taken part in—he’s in web-series, magazines, variety shows… a whole host of other things. It’s a crazy amount of work for just the past two years, and Mark finds himself feeling at somewhat of a loss. How had Donghyuck managed to juggle everything? How had Mark not _realized_ the extent that he had fallen behind?

Lee Donghyuck has built a name for himself in the industry with a stunning sort of speed, one that Mark can’t recall anyone else doing within the same timeframe.

He swallows and moves to YouTube.

Typing _Lee Donghyuck_ into YouTube’s search bar proves an interesting endeavor—most of the videos are clips of him on variety shows, with a fair share of compilations like ‘ _Donghyuck’s lovely smile’_ and ‘ _Ten Things That’ll Make You Fall in Love with Lee Donghyuck’_ sprinkled throughout. Mark wrinkles his nose at the thumbnails.

He eventually comes across a short two-minute clip that’s simply titled: _Hush (2018), Lee Donghyuck._

It’s from the movie Donghyuck had filmed almost immediately after the conclusion of _Golden Days_ , Mark notes. He’s never heard of the film, nor the director, and from the views of the clip it seems as though it hadn’t exactly become a hit. Scanning the summary, Mark discovers that _Hush_ is a movie about a young, mute pianist caught amidst a war, struggling to earn money in order to pay for his younger sister’s treatment for an unspecified chronic illness. It’s a rather dismal-sounding synopsis, Mark thinks, and entirely contradictory to the sort of role he’d imagined that Donghyuck would take on.

He presses play.

The color grading of the film is soft, desaturated. The first shot is of a desk by an open window, a mess of books and scattered pages rustling in the breeze. Sunlight, dappled through leaves, spills into the room. There’s the sound of a piano, a quiet, sweet sort of melody, just a touch melancholic. The camera pans right, to an old, worn brown piano, and all that can be seen are a pair of hands, fingers dancing across the keys.

Somehow, Mark finds that he’s holding his breath, watching as the screen fades to black, before coming back into focus at an antiquated train station, the gentle calm of the earlier scene disrupted by the sound of a steam engine, the speeding carriages of a train.

The train passes and standing amidst the rush of a busy platform is Donghyuck, dressed in a tattered shirt and pants, topped with a ratty-looking grey jacket. His hair has been dyed dark brown, almost black. It hangs in his eyes, which are further hidden under the rim of a flat cap. He’s still, only for a moment, before turning, and disappearing into the crowd.

Fade to black. It’s the end of the video—and Mark thinks, unbidden, _that was way too short_.

It’s a strange thought, wanting to see _more_ of Lee Donghyuck, but there’s something about the quiet, muted quality of the film that has Mark feeling both unsettled and intrigued. He tells himself that he’ll watch the entirety of the movie as soon as he can find a complete version.

He spends the rest of the evening on YouTube, watching videos of Donghyuck on variety shows and interviews. It’s weird, because Mark doesn’t think he’s ever been interviewed alone, but Donghyuck has no shortage of clips from different shows and with different interviewers—it’s probably because he’s just got that sort of personality, the kind of outgoing humor that people love to see on screen.

Mark _should_ feel bitter, but instead he thinks, _ah, that makes sense_. As expected of Lee Donghyuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah this entire chapter is just Mark ranting about Donghyuck,, what about it
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/epistolarymoon) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/letterstothemoon)!


	3. Chapter 3

Mark drives to work the following morning determined to do better—if only so Donghyuck will have nothing to mock him for (although, even when Mark did well in past, Donghyuck always found _something_ to make fun of, so his expectations aren’t all that high, honestly).

He arrives a few minutes early, but the set is already bustling with activity. Taeyong is in the corner getting his makeup done, and when he sees Mark he waves cheerfully. “Mark! Come here! I didn’t get to say hi to you and Donghyuckie yesterday, how are you?”

“I’m doing good, hyung,” Mark smiles. “How’ve you been? Up to anything cool recently?”

“You know how it is; this and that,” Taeyong replies airily, gesturing at nothing in particular before reaching forward to pat Mark on the cheek. It’s been a while since Mark’s seen Taeyong in person—since his birthday last August, probably, when Taeyong had driven up to Mark’s parents’ house for a surprise visit, gift in hand, and had been happily roped into eating dinner with them. Mark’s mom adores Taeyong, because he’s soft-spoken and sweet and _oh-so-very handsome_ (her words, not Mark’s—but Mark isn’t _blind_ , you know.)

Taeyong’s hair has been dyed a lighter brown, in contrast to the black that had been characteristic of his portrayal of Lee Joonhyung two years ago. Lee Joonhyung this season is supposed to be graduating college with plans of disobeying his parents’—classic drama plot—and opening his own bakery instead of taking over the family business. Mark thinks it’s a nice touch that Taeyong’s hair is softer to reflect the softening of his character’s edges. Or maybe it doesn’t mean anything and Taeyong just felt like changing things up. At the very least, he can say with confidence that Taeyong looks good, so there’s that.

“Have you seen Donghyuck yet?”

Mark knows that Taeyong probably saw more of Donghyuck in the past two years, given that they were both working and running in similar circles. For some reason, Taeyong is also inexplicably fond of Donghyuck, and has never seemed to understand just why Mark and Donghyuck treat one another so antagonistically.

“Mhm,” Taeyong affirms. “Said hello a little earlier today. Although I think he’s outside right now taking a call.”

“Oh, speaking of Donghyuck,” Doyoung interrupts, as if appearing out of thin air, startling Taeyong badly enough that he lets out what is _definitely_ a squeak, “we’ll start shooting a scene with Minjae and Seojoon in fifteen minutes, so if you could go find him, that’d be great.”

Mark bites back a sigh, just barely refraining from whining: _why me?_ It’s definitely far too early to get on Doyoung’s bad side. “Sure,” he says, unenthusiastically. “I’ll get him.”

“Taeyong, if you could find Jaehyun…?” Mark hears, as he heads towards the entrance.

It’s still chilly outside, mid-February, clinging to the fading vestiges of winter. Mark shivers and shoves his hands deep into his jacket pockets, already annoyed at having to go outside to find _Donghyuck_ of all people.

Donghyuck’s not where Mark first looks, by the entryway, and he groans aloud. He turns on his heel and makes his way around the perimeter of the building, all the way towards the back entrance where the dumpsters are. He hears Donghyuck’s voice before he sees him—and something about the tone of it makes him take pause.

“No, I _know_ ,” says Donghyuck, sounding vaguely upset, before he cuts himself abruptly, almost as if someone on the other end of the line had spoken over him. “Yes, but…” he stops again, and lets out a frustrated sigh.

Mark presses himself to the wall, leaning ever-so-slightly so that he can peer around the corner. He feels a little awkward because he usually isn’t a very nosy person, but he also doesn’t think he’s ever heard Donghyuck speak so seriously before in the ten years he’s known the younger boy. He wonders who Donghyuck’s talking to, for him to sound so grim.

Donghyuck’s back is facing Mark, and he’s dressed in a fairly thin, silky-looking black bomber jacket with flowery embroidery all along the back. His posture is stiff and upright, and his shoulders are oh-so-slightly hunched, as if he’s stopping himself from shivering by sheer will alone.

Donghyuck’s voice interrupts Mark’s assessment of him. “Yes, I understand.” A pause. “A photoshoot, tomorrow? But I—” He stops, again, having clearly been interrupted. “Sorry. Alright. Yes… okay.”

At this point, Mark’s guilty conscience overrides his desire to eavesdrop, so he coughs audibly and steps around the corner. “Donghyuck,” he says, and Donghyuck visibly jolts at the sound of his voice, before turning and smoothing his expression into one that is meticulously blank.

“Ah, sorry, I have to go. Duty calls,” he says to the person on the other end of the line, dark eyes never once leaving Mark’s face. “Yes, I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

He hangs up, pocketing his phone. Mark notes, somewhat deliriously, that Donghyuck’s nose and the tips of his ears are flushed red from the cold.

“What do you want, Canada?” Donghyuck asks, tone acerbic, and it’s only because Mark is used to seeing Donghyuck’s usual blithe attitude that he notices the way he sounds unnaturally stilted, the way the corners of his lips remain level instead of tilting upwards. To the untrained eye, Donghyuck looks as he always does; alert, confident, one eyebrow arched, affecting a picture-perfect air of bored expectation. Mark, however, sees nothing but the wary set of his shoulders, the way his mouth is deliberately relaxed.

“We, uh. Doyoung-hyung called. You’re filming a scene with Jaehyun-hyung.” He stutters, and wonders what it is with him recently that he just can’t seem to find steady footing around Donghyuck.

Donghyuck stares at him for a moment, silent, expression utterly unreadable. His eyes are very, very dark. “Okay,” he says, eventually, and seems to come out of whatever mood he’d been in just moments before. He straightens, throwing his shoulders back, tilting his head so that he can peer at Mark from down his nose. Ugh. “I suppose they’ve demoted you to set assistant, then? Turned you into a little errand boy, have they?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Mark snaps.

“No can do, _Markie-poo_ ,” Donghyuck drawls, and moves so that he’s standing beside Mark.

 _Markie-poo_? Mark mouths, vaguely horrified. “Don’t call me that.”

Donghyuck only shoots him a sly smile. “Oh, but it’s cute,” he tilts his head and looks at Mark appraisingly, scanning him from head to toe. “Although, maybe a bit too cute for the likes of you, I think.”

Mark rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable,” he tells Donghyuck.

“You mispronounced _incredible_ ,” Donghyuck says, pitching his voice higher, and he definitely seems more upbeat now.

“No, I definitely meant insufferable,” Mark sighs, and then starts to walk back towards the entrance.

Donghyuck throws back his head and laughs, and it’s the sound of his obnoxious cackling that follows Mark all the way back.

“Aren’t you cold?” Mark thinks to ask Donghyuck.

Donghyuck sends him a quizzical smile, which Mark isn’t exactly sure what that’s supposed to mean. “Why, are you offering your jacket, Canada? How gentlemanly.” He looks down at the ground with an expression Mark’s never seen before, and it throws him off enough so that he can’t quite think of a response fast enough. “That’s disgustingly sweet of you to care, Mark Lee,” Donghyuck continues. “But I’m a big boy, and I can handle the cold.”

“Christ, you’re annoying. It was just a question,” Mark mumbles, and doesn’t understand why his cheeks suddenly feel so warm.

“Whatever you say,” Donghyuck sings, and Mark can only sigh. Again.

When they get back to set, everything’s already been properly put together, and the cast and crew all seem to be waiting for them.

“Ah, good, you found Donghyuck!” Taeil exclaims, from where he’s standing next to Jaehyun, on the set of the Kim family living room. “We were just about to send Jungwoo to go look for the two of you, so you’re just in time.”

“Sorry,” Donghyuck says, smiling winningly. “Mark was _super_ slow.”

“Hey!” Mark protests, and Donghyuck turns to stick his tongue out at him.

“Don’t start, you two,” Doyoung interrupts, from where he’s leaning against Yuta from behind the camera. “Anyway, since this scene is just Jaehyun and Donghyuck, I’d like to talk to Yerim and Mark so that we can go over some details about the scene we’re filming with the two of you later today. Taeil-hyung?” Doyoung looks to Taeil for confirmation, and when the director nods, he gestures at Yerim and Mark to follow him into Taeil’s office.

Despite the magnitude of _Golden Days_ ’ popularity, their set has remained as small as the day they started, with only Taeil’s office and a recording booth in the actual interior of the set building. Their crew, similarly, has remained fairly diminutive, tight-knit and familiar.

Yerim looks excited as she follows behind Doyoung. For the miniseries she’s actually joined the core cast, her character Sunmin having been promoted to playing Hyunwoo’s eventual girlfriend. In prior seasons of _Golden_ _Days_ , her role had been relatively minor, especially since she’d only joined midway through the storyline in the fifth season as one of Hyunwoo and Minjae’s classmates.

While the burgeoning romance between Sunmin and Hyunwoo isn’t exactly a central storyline, it’s big enough that her presence in the show has increased significantly. Mark’s excited for Yerim, really, because he’s pretty sure this is her first substantial role, and her enthusiasm is infectious.

“Alright, so,” Doyoung says, as he closes the door behind them. “Basic stuff, you two. You know that this is before Hyunwoo and Sunmin get together, so act like you’re kinda into each other, a little shy, that sort of thing.”

“Sounds good,” Mark says.

“What do you mean, kinda into each other?” Yerim inquires, her brows furrowing in concentration. She looks like she’s just about ready to whip out a notepad to start taking notes. It’s kind of funny how focused she is, Mark thinks. He remembers seeking the same degree of tense perfectionism years ago, when he’d just been figuring out how to translate words on a page into action.

Doyoung shrugs. “Young love manifests differently in different people, just think about how someone might act with a crush that they don’t necessarily realize they have.”

“Like… being too invested in what the other person thinks of you?” Mark suggests.

“Yes, exactly. It’s simple stuff. Up to your interpretation, you know the drill. Today’s scene is all very casual, Taeil-hyung and I don’t have many requirements or initial ideas for how we want you to portray anything. Really, don’t overthink things; I only called you two in here for a quick reminder.”

“Okay!” Yerim nods enthusiastically, face set in determination. Doyoung looks as if he’s having trouble biting back a smile at her fervor.

“Alright, I’ve said my piece,” Doyoung glances down at his clipboard. “We’ll probably be doing your scene at around 10:30 a.m., if we stay on schedule. Stay close by, Taeil-hyung or I will let you know when you’re up.”

He waves a hand to dismiss them.

“Are you going to watch what they’re filming now?” Yerim whispers to Mark as they leave the office. Her eyes are sparkling. “I am! I can’t wait to watch Jaehyun-oppa and Donghyuck act again, they’re both incredible.”

It’s only because Mark is actually somewhat fond of Yerim that he doesn’t audibly sigh at the Donghyuck comment. Besides, he isn’t nearly petty enough to claim that Donghyuck _isn’t_ a good actor, because the truth of the matter is that Donghyuck is a _fantastic_ actor—just an intolerable person.

“I might just go over my lines a bit,” Mark whispers back, “so I’m gonna head over to the recording booth for some quiet.”

“Oh, okay! See you then,” Yerim beams and fist pumps the air, “ _hwaiting!_ ”

The truth is, Mark isn’t really going to the recording booth to run his lines. Well, okay, he is, but that’s because it’s actually just a front for the real reason he doesn’t want to be present on set. While Mark absolutely is determined to put his best foot forward in the coming months, there’s still that little insecure part of him that selfishly refuses to be faced with actors who are better than him. Jaehyun is a phenomenal actor, and although Mark hates admitting it, Donghyuck is pretty amazing, too.

He doesn’t want to be confronted with the feeling of falling behind. He’s already lagging several steps behind everyone else, especially after a two-year-long hiatus. Maybe it’s because he’s the only person that exists in his own head—he has no idea what the others are thinking about at any given time, no idea if they’re just as insecure as he is—except it doesn’t really matter, does it? As long as he keeps his cool and keeps to himself, he should be good to go when they film him next. That’s the plan, at least.

The lights of the recording studio are turned off, and the room is utterly still—it doesn’t seem to have been used at all in the past two days, likely even longer than that. There’s a thin film of dust over the table in the corner, but aside from that everything looks as it should.

He takes the edge of his script and swipes at the dust, before hopping onto the table to sit cross-legged. It doesn’t bode well that this particular scene centers heavily around Minjae and Hyunwoo interacting, because that means having to deal with Donghyuck for far longer than he has any real desire to—but Mark is a professional. He won’t let any petty grievances get in the way of him doing his job; especially after the previous day’s embarrassment.

He scans the script.

> FADE IN:

OUTSIDE OF SCHOOL – AFTERNOON

[Hyunwoo is leaning by the school gates while Minjae runs up to him.]

MINJAE

Hyunwoo! There you are!

HYUNWOO

Why do you sound so surprised? I said I’d wait for you.

MINJAE

Yeah, yeah, I know. Mr. I-Can-Do-No-Wrong. Whatever. Anyways, have you started studying for the chem test next week? I’m so nervous.

HYUNWOO

[Snorting] Studying? Not at all.

MINJAE

You know, if you fail the test Professor Kim is probably gonna flunk you out of the class entirely.

HYUNWOO

Probably.

MINJAE

Don’t sound so calm about it! What if you flunk, and then don’t earn enough credits, and then fail high school so you can’t graduate, and then you won’t go to college, and no one will hire you, and you won’t have any money—

HYUNWOO

[Laughs] You’re definitely being too dramatic. Worst case scenario I’ll go to Professor Kim’s office and cry, so she’ll feel sorry enough to pass me.

MINJAE

I think you have way too much confidence in the idea that Professor Kim actually has feelings…

Mark flips to the next page, and then the next, reading the words over and over again until they don’t even register as words. It’s kind of funny, reading about high schoolers, especially so soon after his own graduation. Reading about Hyunwoo and Minjae’s easy friendship is nostalgic, too, because even though Mark has never gotten along with Donghyuck, they’ve spent eight years of their lives playing the best of friends, and it’s familiar in a way that Mark never expected it could be.

The time passes like that, far too quickly. Before he knows it, he’s standing at the outer edge of the set, having changed into Hyunwoo’s school uniform, watching as Taeil calls “ _cut!_ ”.

“Alright, Mark, Donghyuck! Let’s shift gears, head outside, and get cracking!” Taeil claps his hands together, grinning.

The set for _Golden Days_ consists of two main areas: there’s the indoor area, comprised of the interiors of classrooms and houses, and the outdoor area, which is really just the school yard and gates. On the occasion that they need to film outside one of the houses, there’s a five-minute drive down the road to an Airbnb.

“How was filming?” Mark asks Taeil as they traipse outside, to which he responds with an optimistic thumbs-up.

“Pretty great, actually. Donghyuck and Jaehyun were on their A-game,” Taeil leans in close to whisper into Mark’s ear. “Although don’t let Donghyuckie catch me saying that, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Mark snickers into his hand. “As if I’d ever compliment him,” he whispers back, and then goes vaguely pink when Taeil lifts his eyebrows.

“Mark, despite your incessant complaints about his personality, you do pretty constantly praise his acting ability,” Taeil points out.

“Please don’t speak to me ever again.” Mark squeezes his eyes shut. It’s a _curse_ , really, being so openly honest about his opinions. He resolves to never call Donghyuck a good actor again.

“Ah, are we making fun Mark Lee?” _Speak of the devil and he doth appear_ —Donghyuck squeezes in between Mark and Taeil, looping his arms around Taeil’s waist.

Mark sighs. “Why are you here.”

Taeil has to muffle his laughter into his sleeve—Mark doesn’t quite understand why, but Taeil’s always found his and Donghyuck’s quarrels hysterical, often preferring to watch passively unless they get too out of hand. _Then_ he just looks disappointed.

Donghyuck huffs. “Because I am _working_ , Canada, or did you forget that we’re about to film a scene together in less than ten minutes? Also, I am fantastic company, don’t lie to yourself.”

“Actually, I cannot _stand_ you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, just so you know.”

“I don’t care.”

“Me neither!”

“You literally just—”

At this point, Donghyuck releases Taeil to cover his own ears. “ _Nah nah nah I can’t hear you_ ,” he hollers, and then drives the point home by sticking his tongue out at Mark. Mark is going to _throttle_ him with his bare hands.

“You are an absolute _child_.”

“ _Can’t hear you can’t hear you can’t hear you—”_

“Alright, that’s enough,” Taeil says, disguising a laugh with a suspicious-sounding cough. He gently pries Donghyuck’s hands from his ears. “Yuta looks just about done with setting up the cameras, so get into position, boys.”

With one last scowl at Donghyuck, Mark puts his script down on top of the table they have set up for knick-knacks. Donghyuck is dressed in the same school uniform Mark is, except he isn’t wearing a jacket on top, and his ears are visibly red from the cold, as is his nose, and the tips of his fingers.

“Dude, why don’t you put on a jacket?” Mark asks, tucking a hot pack into his pocket.

Donghyuck tilts his head, his smile deceptively sweet. “What, are you my mom, Mark Lee?”

Mark rolls his eyes. “Alright, whatever. See if I care if you get sick.”

Donghyuck doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead shaking his head to get his bangs out of his eyes and running those pink-cold fingers through his hair.

“Alright, kiddos, let’s get this party started!” Taeil shouts and claps his hands together a few times.

“Not funny,” Yuta calls from behind the camera, and Taeil sighs.

“You are _sapping_ the _joy_ out of me, man,” Taeil complains, and then laughs. “Okay, okay, seriously. Get in position… and… five, four,” he holds his fingers out, mouthing the rest of the countdown: _three, two, one_ , and Jungwoo, in front of the camera, snaps the clapperboard closed, before darting out of frame.

Mark leans against the wall right beside the gate and pretends to adjust his sleeves as he waits for Donghyuck to appear.

“Hyunwoo, there you are!” Donghyuck chirps, and Mark turns to see him jogging towards him, waving a textbook in the air. He waits until Donghyuck reaches him, nudging a shoulder against Mark’s affectionately. Donghyuck’s smile is small but sure. It’s always jarring, seeing the transition from Lee Donghyuck to Kang Minjae—Minjae has always been a sincere sort of character, the kind that rarely understood sarcasm, and was always gentle and smiling.

“Why do you sound so surprised? I said I’d wait for you,” Mark says, and matches Donghyuck’s easy smile.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Donghyuck waves a dismissive hand, smile turning mischievous. “Mr. I-Can-Do-No-Wrong. Whatever.” He pauses and shifts to brandish the textbook like a weapon. “Anyways, have you started studying for the chem test next week? I’m _so_ nervous.”

Mark huffs, amused. “Studying? Not at all.”

Donghyuck gasps, just a touch overdramatic—it’s his own personality, leaking into Minjae. It works, somehow—it really, really does. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark sees Doyoung exchanging a wry, half-resigned half-amused look with Taeil.

As they continue the scene, walking along the sidewalk, Donghyuck leans in close to drape himself over Mark. Donghyuck’s characterization of Minjae has always been one of an incredibly tactile person, an arm thrown over a shoulder, a knock of his knuckles against Mark’s arm.

When Mark had first acted in a scene with Donghyuck as Minjae all those years ago, he’d damn near jumped out of his skin the moment Donghyuck slotted himself into Mark’s side, slinging an arm around his neck. They’d had to stop filming for the rest of the day after Mark had shouted: _why did you do that!_ And then Donghyuck had yelled back: _Because I’m acting, dummy!_ And somehow, they’d both ended up crying hysterically.

Mark barely remembers anything at all about that day, but he remembers, clear as anything, the absolute astonishment he’d felt at Donghyuck willingly engaging in skinship, in actually treating Mark kindly—even though it was all just a farce. Of course, he’d overreacted in an utterly embarrassing way, but he’d always been an awkward kid unused to dealing with surprises (also just unused to dealing with Lee Donghyuck as a whole, really). And Donghyuck acting like he actually could stand to be around Mark was the most surprising thing of all.

Now, though, years gone by, Mark thinks he’d gotten about as used to this as he can get. Still, though, after two years of no-contact, the feeling of Donghyuck’s hair tickling his cheek is strange, on the edge of unfamiliar. Donghyuck is a steady presence at his side, voice high-pitched and excited, and Mark finds himself saying his lines as if on autopilot, reacting to the shifts in Donghyuck’s tone, the subtle way he touches his fingers to Mark’s wrist.

They only need to film the scene twice before Taeil’s satisfied, and Mark has to physically restrain himself from letting out an audibly relieved sigh. Donghyuck smirks at Mark as if reading his mind, but mercifully remains silent, which boosts Mark’s mood an embarrassing amount. (It’s the little things. Mark is probably a little bit pathetic, but he doesn’t care.)

When Yerim shows up a little later for the part of the scene that involves Sunmin, Mark can’t help but reflexively glance at Donghyuck when he extricates himself, loosening his grip on Mark’s forearm. Donghyuck’s smiling, extra wide, when he greets Yerim. 

The rest of the scene goes mostly smoothly, although Taeil pauses filming a few times to tell Mark to look a little more smitten with Sunmin, and vice versa. This is the first time Mark’s ever had a romance plotline, so he’s willing to overlook the times Donghyuck leans over to whisper and snicker about giving him a tip or two. Yerim is equally flustered but looks pleased and pink when the fourth take proves successful and Taeil flashes them a pleased thumbs-up afterwards.

“Good job, kids!” Taeil claps and lets out a resounding cheer. _He really is the best_ , Mark thinks, and can’t help but smile. “Wow, I can’t believe today went so well,” he hums. “We’re even a little ahead of schedule, so let’s just say that you three are done filming for the day, and I’ll have Taeyong and Jaehyun get started on the scenes we’re going to be working on tomorrow…”

“Ah, before you leave,” Doyoung pipes up, and waves his clipboard in their general direction. “Come back inside and I have some pointers for tomorrow I want you guys to keep in mind.”

While they follow Doyoung back inside, Donghyuck trails a few steps behind the rest of them, fingers flying across his phone screen, presumably texting someone. He’s not smiling, but his eyes are crinkled at the corners, obviously happy. Mark bites back any sense of curiosity because really, he _doesn’t care_ , and hurries to keep pace with Doyoung.

However, just before they reach the main entrance, Mark hears twin shouts of: “ _Lee Donghyuck!_ ” He flinches, for a moment certain that it’s the shrieking of rabid fans who have somehow managed to figure out their filming schedule—but then he turns and watches as Donghyuck positively lights up, beaming with all the force of a thousand suns.

“Nana, Injunnie!” Donghyuck yells, waving enthusiastically at a pair of boys who are about half a block away. He seems to come back to himself a half-beat late, realizing that he’s still on the job, and sheepishly looks at Doyoung for permission to let his friends(?) into the building.

Doyoung only shrugs and nods. “Go on then,” he makes a shooing motion. “Invite them in—as long as they can wait a few minutes while I talk to you guys about tomorrow.”

“They’ll be quiet!” Donghyuck promises fervently, and then jogs over to where the two boys are waiting for him.

“Who are they?” Yerim leans over to murmur to Mark. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Donghyuck invite friends to set before?”

She’s right, he realizes. Mark’s never actually seen Donghyuck interact with any of his friends outside of the people on set—he has no idea what kind of friend Donghyuck is, what kind of person he is outside of a professional setting.

“I don’t know,” Mark whispers back. “They’re too far for me to tell. And their names don’t sound familiar.”

When Donghyuck returns with the two boys, Mark takes a second to see if he recognizes them. The one on Donghyuck’s left is taller than him, with ashy-grey hair tucked under a pale pink beanie, arm slung over Donghyuck’s shoulder, smiling broad and confident and easy-going. The one to Donghyuck’s right is shorter, thin with sharp, pretty features and bleached blonde hair, eyes downcast as he scrolls through his phone.

Mark has a vague recollection of who the taller one is, although he can’t _quite_ place him just yet, and lets out a quiet noise of surprise before he can stop himself. Yerim is the only one that hears, luckily, and glances at him inquisitively.

“Ah, sorry,” he mutters, going a little pink. “It’s nothing.”

They go inside, Donghyuck’s two friends following and whispering to one another excitedly.

Doyoung seems aware of the fact that Donghyuck is a little distracted, and speeds through the few pointers he has for tomorrow. When it becomes clear that no one is listening all that closely, Doyoung sighs and waves them off.

“Alright, alright, we’re done for today,” he dismisses, and turns on his heel to leave before they even have a chance to say goodbye.

“ _Hyuckie Hyuckie Hyuckie_ ,” one of Donghyuck’s friends is chanting, nudging Donghyuck over and over again. He jerks his chin in Mark’s direction, and Donghyuck lets out a long, drawn-out groan. To himself, Mark mouths, _Hyuckie_?

“Fine, fine!” Donghyuck finally concedes to whatever it is that his friend had been asking about. “Canada, get over here.”

“What’s the magic word?” Mark retorts, forgetting that he isn’t supposed to behave so pettily around strangers, even as he walks towards the trio. However, Donghyuck’s two friends seem to take his slip-up in stride, laughing.

“Oh, he _is_ interesting,” muses the smaller of the two. “What Donghyuck was trying to do was to introduce us, I think.” He steps forward, hand extended. He has a firm handshake, Mark finds, and very cold hands. “I’m Huang Renjun, one of Donghyuck’s friends. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Ah, hello,” Mark says, a little flustered. “I’m Mark Lee.”

“Mm,” interjects the taller friend, sliding in between him and Renjun and eyeing him up and down. “We know. Personally, I’m a big fan of _Golden Days_. Love Hyunwoo. You certainly _are_ cuter in person—ah, don’t do that, Hyuckie, that’s not very nice—I’m impressed!”

“Ah!” Mark suddenly snaps his fingers together. “I knew you looked familiar! You’ve worked with Lee Jeno, haven’t you?”

Mark’s been friends with Lee Jeno for a few years, having met the boy by chance while waiting at the agency. Jeno’s signed under SM Ent., as well, also an actor. The reason why he’d recognized Donghyuck’s friend is because he’d seen him on the set of one of Jeno’s shoots for a CF, once—he’d remembered being impressed with how at ease the boy had seemed in front of all the lights and cameras.

The boy looks pleased to be remembered. “I sure have! We’re good friends. The name’s Na Jaemin, a.k.a. model extraordinaire, pleased to make your acquaintance.” He mimes out a bow complete with a flourish of his hand, and Mark laughs, delighted.

Donghyuck is unusually quiet, watching as his friends acquaint themselves with Mark.

“Oh, wait, have you guys met Yerim yet?” Mark gestures for Yerim to approach, and she waves shyly. “This is Kim Yerim, she plays Lee Sunmin in the show.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Renjun sends her a small smile. “Huang Renjun. I work with Jaemin, here.”

“Ah, hello!” Yerim says, a little pink-cheeked. “I think I’ve seen you in magazines, Renjun-ssi! You too, Jaemin-ssi. I do have to leave now, unfortunately, I apologize, but it was so lovely to meet you two!”

She waves goodbye, and bows hurriedly before jogging out, probably to where her manager is waiting for her outside.

“You know, I’ve heard so much about you,” Jaemin begins, once Yerim’s out of earshot. Without meaning to, Mark’s eyes dart towards Donghyuck, who’s pointedly looking down at his phone. Looking amused, Jaemin continues, “oh, don’t worry—all good things, good things. From Jeno as well, of course. I’m really glad we got to meet you.”

“Oh, um, me too!” Mark blurts out. “So, um, how do you guys, uh…” he gestures broadly between the three of them, “know each other?”

“Ah, so I mentioned earlier, I’m a model—Renjun’s signed to the same company as I am, so we met at work, and Renjun met Hyuckie at a photoshoot a few years back and introduced us afterwards!” Jaemin says everything enthusiastically, and there’s just something about his smile that makes Mark feel comfortable.

Donghyuck, still, is quiet, even as he drapes himself across Renjun’s back, tucking his face into Renjun’s throat. At Renjun’s lack of reaction, Mark realizes that Donghyuck probably does that _a lot_. Objectively, he knows that Donghyuck’s a pretty touchy person, just from how he behaves around the rest of the cast and crew (besides Mark, obviously), but it’s another thing entirely to witness how he behaves around his close friends.

Minjae’s behavior around Hyunwoo is probably accurate to Donghyuck’s behavior around his friends, Mark thinks. Huh. Interesting.

Just as he’s opening his mouth to ask for Jaemin and Renjun’s numbers, his phone begins to vibrate in his pocket. “Oh, sorry,” he says apologetically, as he digs it out and sees that it’s from his manager. “I have to take this. It really was nice meeting you two—have a nice day!”

“The pleasure was ours!” Jaemin calls after him, and then lets out a breathless laugh when it seems like Donghyuck jabs him in the side in response. Mark just has the time to see the fond way Renjun looks at the two who have started squabbling, before he turns and picks up the phone, starting to head outside.

“Hey, Johnny-hyung, what’s up?”

Johnny Seo has only been Mark’s manager for about four years, having met Mark for the first time when he was sixteen. Mark didn’t actually have a manager prior to being introduced to Johnny, primarily relying on his parents to deal with the company for him—so once he was old enough to have some degree of independence, he’d jumped at the opportunity to work with a Real, Genuine _Manager_. He was doubly lucky that he and Johnny had clicked almost immediately, bonding over their shared abilities to speak English and propensity for arguably terrible jokes.

“I’m waiting outside the studio,” Johnny sounds a little distracted, and there’s the sound of something shuffling in the background of the call. “Parked around the back.”

“Okay, got it,” Mark confirms, “are we going to the company?”

“No, but I’ve got some things I want you to look over. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

Johnny hands Mark a stack of papers the moment he opens the car door to slide in next to him. “Hold this.” Then he pauses, grinning as he looks Mark over. “Nice outfit. Very… schoolboy-chic.”

“Ah man, shut up, I didn’t have time to change,” Mark laughs, before thumbing through the pages on his lap. “What are these?” he eyes the stack curiously. There looks to be a good several different documents, each one of about thirty to fifty pages bound together. “Seems important.”

“It _is_ important,” Johnny says, flashing Mark a proud-looking smile. “They’re screenplays!”

“Oh, sick,” Mark raises his eyebrows. “What for?”

“You, of course, my young padawan,” Johnny announces, and because he’s scrolling through his playlist trying to pick a song, he misses the way Mark stiffens.

“Me? But I’m still filming for _Golden Days…_?”

“Well, yeah, I’m not saying that you should pick up a new project simultaneously, I’m not trying to work you to death, y’know, but since filming for the miniseries is only going to last a few months, I figure it’ll be good for you to peruse some upcoming screenplays, proposals, that sort of thing. See what interests you, consider auditioning and getting something lined up for after _Golden Days_ … exciting stuff, man! Your second ever project!”

“Mhm…” Mark hums noncommittally, but the stack of papers on his lap suddenly feels like an anvil—in them is the weight of the world.

“Hang on, I’ve got some more scripts in the back. I’ll get them for you, and you can be on your way. Look over them in your spare time, lemme know if anything stands out. No pressure,” Johnny says, and he sounds so excited, Mark feels almost sick to his stomach. 

Johnny pulls out a little cardboard box filled to the brim with other scripts and takes the few that Mark is holding to place them at the very top. “Here you go, man, you’re free to go!” He claps a hand to Mark’s shoulder, and cheerfully waves him goodbye.

“Bye, Johnny,” Mark says hollowly, and his smile feels stiff and unnatural. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“You go do that,” Johnny winks, waving all the while Mark closes the car door.

Mark takes a few moments to himself after Johnny drives off, standing in the parking lot with the cardboard box clenched in his hands and held close to his chest. He knows he should drive home and take a few hours just to go through the scripts, but even the very thought of doing so is paralyzing.

Eventually, he forces himself to move, to get into his own car and start driving back home. He puts the cardboard box on the seat next to him and forces himself to look only at the road, refusing to even glance at it. The presence of the box and all it represents is _suffocating_ , a mounting pressure that makes his stomach clench and his chest physically ache.

When he gets home, neither of his parents are there. It’s a relief—even though he loves his mom and dad, he doesn’t think he could weather any questions about the box, and the inevitable follow-up inquiries about his future.

It’s irrational, how nervous the thought of having to officially move on from _Golden Days_ makes him. Mark hadn’t had the time to mourn the show’s official end two years ago, because he was already so busy thinking about school—but now, the thought that once _Golden Days_ (the miniseries) ends, it’ll really be over for good. He’s never really been confronted with the thought of letting go of _Golden Days_ , of Hyunwoo. He doesn’t know how to be anyone else _other_ than Hyunwoo.

What if he can’t act as anyone other than Hyunwoo? What if he never likes anything as much as _Golden Days_? He’s… terrified. It’s seriously so absurd, these insecurities of his, this bizarre sense of inadequacy—but Mark’s heart is pounding, and his palms are clammy, and he really, really doesn’t want to think about all that the stupid cardboard box symbolizes.

When he gets to his room, the first thing he does is to open his closet and shove the cardboard back onto the very highest shelf, in a far back corner where he can’t reach without standing on a chair.

Immediately after closing the closet door, the uneasiness dissipates, sliding through him like water. Mark sinks, boneless, onto his bed.

Mark knows he’s a fairly unique case in the realm of acting. He’s only ever acted on one project, and that one project had lasted well over eight years, and then even beyond that, had been renewed for a miniseries a decade after the first ever episode aired. He’s both experienced and inexperienced: practiced in that he has been acting for half his life, and undeveloped because he has only ever played one character.

To be honest, he’s not fully certain of whether or not he’s even capable of playing anyone other than Kim Hyunwoo, but it’s a fear that he’s not too keen on overthinking.

Once again, his thoughts turn to Donghyuck—had he ever felt the same apprehension Mark did, when he was transitioning to newer projects? Of course, _Golden Days_ had technically been Donghyuck’s second project—but did Donghyuck even consider his cameo in _Ocean Blue_ an actual job?

Mark can’t imagine Donghyuck ever feeling scared about anything—he’s always been bold and brash and utterly fearless, reckless where Mark is ever-cautious.

Mark imagines asking Donghyuck if he’d ever felt insecure, and cringes at the very thought of the hypothetical scene. Donghyuck would probably spend several long minutes laughing at him, and then would breathlessly say something like: _“What, are you serious? That’s so lame, Mark Lee, I can’t believe that you’re actually_ that _pathetic!_ ” And then he would laugh some more.

Even in his head, Donghyuck is brutally honest.

He recalls the previous night, the two-minute clip he’d found of Donghyuck’s first project after _Golden Days_. What was it again? Right. _Hush_. A story about a mute pianist.

How had Donghyuck felt then, when he decided that he wanted to take on the project? What was he thinking, when he auditioned? What had gone on in that confusing head of his?

Suddenly taken by a burst of motivation, Mark sits upright and reaches for his laptop, powering it on to see if he can find _Hush_ on some sort of streaming service. He wants to watch Donghyuck—he really, really does. Maybe it’s weird, to watch the film of someone you grew up hating, but he can’t quite bring himself to care.

A few minutes later, he strikes gold—there’s a version of _Hush_ that’s hosted on a shady-looking sight, the kind that asks you to turn off ad-block and then only shows porn ads—but Mark doesn’t care. He’ll risk the virus.

Mark’s always been very particular on how movies should be watched—preferably at a movie theatre, but if that isn’t an option, then in a quiet place, with the curtains drawn and the lights turned off, bundled up in blankets and pillows. He does just that, grabbing his favorite pair of headphones, settling down and preparing to block the next two hours out.

He presses play.

…And finds that the following two hours goes by so quickly he hardly even feels time passing—largely due to the fact that by the middle of the movie he is a sniveling, wailing mess.

“Why did no one tell me this was a _sad_ movie?” He hisses, wiping furiously at his eyes, hating that Lee Donghyuck’s acting—of all people! —is the one that is making him cry like an absolute child. Okay, objectively, just based off the synopsis he’d read the previous day, he should’ve known that the movie wouldn’t be the most upbeat—but seriously, this is _far_ too depressing, even so!

Kim Wonshik, the mute pianist that Donghyuck plays, is earnest and kind and has the saddest, darkest eyes Mark has ever seen. He doesn’t say a single word throughout the film, communicating only through simple gestures and his clear love of music. As the movie progresses, he gets thinner and thinner, haggard and tired, with dark circles ringing his eyes—and yet he puts his heart and soul into every piece he ever plays.

In the scenes where he sits with his younger sister (who is played by an incredibly talented child actor, Mark thinks), Wonshik runs a gentle hand through her sweat-soaked hair and tries and tries to speak but fails. He returns, time and time again, to seedy bars, to the street corner with a broken brown piano, to the homes of enemy soldiers, to play music for them. He is pushed and shoved around, kicked while down, spat on, loathed, _reviled_ … and yet he trudges forward.

It’s incredible, how easily Mark forgets that the face behind Kim Wonshik is Lee Donghyuck—and he watches, enraptured, throughout the entire film, forgetting even to wonder about what Donghyuck had been thinking as he’d played Wonshik, because Mark has become entirely too invested in the storyline.

And yet.

The film is an obvious tragedy. Wonshik spends his days playing piano, earning the bare minimum amount to keep his sister alive—but the reality is this: they live in a war-torn world, where mute boys who don’t work real jobs can’t even begin to think about making it out safe and sound, and sick little girls are sometimes too sick to be saved.

Wonshik’s sister succumbs to her illness, but Wonshik never even has the chance to find out, because while he is on that street corner playing that broken piano, an enemy soldier grabs and stabs him in a fit of thoughtless rage. He leaves Wonshik alone and broken on the street, to a backing litany of bombings and gunshots. There is no more music, not even in the soundtrack of the film itself, and Wonshik dies, silent still, mouth moving soundlessly around the syllables of his sister’s name.

Mark’s eyes are sore and swollen by the time the ending credits begin to scroll across the screen. He’s going to have to ice his face before he sleeps and again when he wakes up, probably. He googles the director’s name—and it’s a long, foreign-sounding one—and finds that _Hush_ had been the man’s first and only project. He scrolls down the results to find an interview with a single quote from the man:

“The reason why _Hush_ is a tragedy…? It’s simple, really. Because the truth of the matter is this: not all stories have happy endings. Because miracles seldom come in time. Because occasionally there just _isn’t_ a moral to be found at the end of the line, and that oftentimes wars are waged over nothing more than a desire to appease pointless vanities… and lives are lost for no other reason than because the world is cruel without meaning to be, and that to exist is to suffer.”

Mark sputters, “What the hell,” and then promptly bursts into tears all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/epistolarymoon) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/letterstothemoon)!


	4. Chapter 4

A few weeks into filming, Taeil gathers the cast at the end of the day and tells them that he has big news. As it turns out, the core cast have been invited to guest on a variety show for pre-promotions. It’s rare that actors would get invited to any sort of promotional televised event prior to the release of a drama, but Mark figures that since _Golden Days_ is a pretty big name in the industry, they’re probably trying to capitalize off its previous popularity.

“What show?” Jaehyun asks, “and when?”

“A week from today, and it’s _One Hour Ace,_ ” Taeil says, and before he can even attempt to continue speaking, the room bursts into commotion, everyone clamoring to be heard over one another.

“What!” Shrieks Donghyuck, sounding delighted.

“ _One Hour Ace,_ ” repeats Joohyun, and she looks pleased as punch, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

Jaehyun and Taeyong exchange a wide-eyed look of astonishment, and Mark watches how Taeyong actually begins to bounce in place, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, in an attempt to physically reign in his excitement.

Mark, too, is beyond surprised. _One Hour Ace_ is an incredibly popular show—the kind that airs every Sunday night just around dinnertime so that people can watch while they eat, and it’s the type of show that _everyone_ has heard of. It lives up to its classification as a variety show, that’s for sure. Each episode features a different set of celebrities and is split into two distinct halves. The first half is where the celebrities pitted against one another in any number of games in front of a live audience. At the end of the first segment, the person or team with the most wins gets a prize (the _ace_ of the hour, haha, you get it?). The second half is just a casual meal that doubles as an interview with the hosts, sans the live audience.

It’s fantastic for promotion, and Mark is in disbelief that they’ve actually been invited before _Golden Days’_ has even started airing. It speaks to everyone’s good mood at the news that even Doyoung doesn’t attempt to calm them down, instead standing slightly off to the side with a smile as he watches them, speaking quietly with Jungwoo.

The remainder of the week continues much in the same vein, filming going surprisingly smoothly because it seems that everyone is fully geared up and working hard with the knowledge that they’re going to be at _One Hour Ace_ within the coming days. It’s a surprisingly effective motivational boost.

Mark, however, is caught between excitement and apprehension, because this will mark only his third appearance on any televised show outside of _Golden Days_. This was largely due to the fact that he hadn’t actually had an official manager until he was sixteen, instead having to rely on his parents’ involvement with his company—and his parents had preferred that he stuck to acting alone.

While Mark doesn’t fault them for that decision (honestly, in hindsight it was probably a pretty good idea to remove Mark from the public eye while he was still developing a functional brain-to-mouth filter), the reality is that he hasn’t had many opportunities to dip his toes into the realm of the entertainment industry.

He understands that Jaehyun, Taeyong, and Joohyun are regular variety-show veterans though, since they’re older, and more present in the industry. Donghyuck, too, has no shortage of experience, Mark knows, because neither Donghyuck’s parents nor agency had seemed to have the same reservations as Mark’s had had about sending the boy to shows, likely confident in his ability to win audiences over.

The only one who has even less experience with filming variety shows on the core cast is Yerim, who has never been on any before—Mark knows this because in the days leading up to _One Hour Ace_ , Yerim keeps pulling him aside at the end of the day to whisper excitedly about how she has no idea what to expect, and should she be nervous? Should she dress up or are there going to be stylists? Should she do her own makeup? Is there going to be a script? Mark doesn’t really know why she’s asking him and not any of the other four who are far more experienced, but maybe she just feels more comfortable with the idea that Mark is hardly any better off than she is.

Before he knows it, after a whirlwind week of giddy hours at work, the day has arrived. Just two days prior, they’d each received a sheet of paper detailing the schedule for filming, along with the profiles of the hosts—something which Mark hadn’t supposed that anyone would need, but the thought is nice, all the same.

They’re filming on a Friday, the episode projected to be released on the following Sunday. Since they’re arriving to the set individually instead of going as a cohesive group, Mark ends up hitching a ride with Jaehyun because he feels a little too shaky to drive, wired with nervous energy.

“Hey, dude,” Mark greets, when he slides into the passenger seat. He’s a little surprised to note that Jaehyun had remembered his address without having to ask again, especially since Jaehyun hasn’t visited in several months. He adds a brazen: “Thanks for being my personal chauffeur for the day.”

Jaehyun looks at him with an expression that’s half longsuffering and half fond as he starts the car. “I swear… you kids are still way too good at getting me and Taeyong-hyung to do you favors. Donghyuck convinced Taeyong-hyung to give him a ride to the studio, too.”

“You’re too nice, that’s why. It makes you an easy target, hyung,” Mark says, laughing a little. “But seriously, thanks for giving me a lift.”

“Anything for my favorite on-screen little brother,” Jaehyun teases. It’s a running gag, heavily unoriginal but still nice to hear, because in the show Kim Hyunwoo is Jaehyun’s character’s (Kim Seojoon) younger brother.

“I’m your only on-screen brother,” Mark snorts.

“Still my favorite, though,” Jaehyun retorts, and god, he’s so cheesy it makes Mark want to cringe and let out a little shriek of laughter.

The rest of the drive consists of a comfortable silence, broken only by the gentle croon of a nameless top-twenty pop hit playing on the radio. Mark’s always gotten along well with Jaehyun (and really, everyone involved in _Golden Days_ save for Donghyuck), and he’s thankful to have grown up surrounded by dependable people.

They pull up to the studio half-an-hour later, and before they’re even properly opened the car doors they’re getting escorted in through a private artist’s door by a team of four staff members—and Mark is amazed to see that there’s a genuine ring of fans surrounding the front of the building, which is cordoned off by a combination of security personnel and crowd-control stanchions.

It’s been a while since Mark’s been in the recording studio of any variety show, and he’s struck by how much busier it is in comparison to the set of _Golden Days_. Also, it’s _massive_ , a giant room with the raised dais of the stage front and center, directly facing a set of bleachers for a live audience that’s almost comically large. The live audience isn’t set to arrive until about 3 p.m., which isn’t for another few hours—although now that Mark thinks again, maybe the fans that had been waiting outside were the live audience?

The stage lights have already been turned on, and Mark can just imagine the glare and heat of it all—blinding, all-encompassing. Jaehyun looks utterly at home, but he waits patiently as Mark gapes at the scene before them.

Despite the fact that they’re still several hours out from the official starting time, the set is bustling, filled with staff who are talking loudly into headsets, carrying stacks of documents and other props. Everyone looks as if they know exactly what they’re meant to be doing, where they’re meant to be going. Mark, in contrast, feels young and dumb and very, very lost.

“I think we should head backstage,” Jaehyun suggests, when it seems like Mark isn’t about to move any time soon.

“Oh, um! Right, yeah, let’s—” Mark forcefully shakes his head in an attempt to focus, before:

“I can’t wait to kick your ass, Canada,” Donghyuck interjects smarmily, suddenly appears out of nowhere, pushing between Mark and Jaehyun.

Mark’s nervous energy immediately dissipates, dissolving into something a lot like irritation. “What’re you talking about, _demon_?”

“For the games today, duh,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, and hooks his chin over Jaehyun’s shoulder, eyeing Mark smugly as he wraps his arms possessively around Jaehyun’s waist. Jaehyun, used to Donghyuck’s petty interruptions, doesn’t react at all. “I’m gonna destroy you, just you wait.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Mark snorts.

“And _I’d_ like to remind the two of you that you are both adults,” Jaehyun reminds them, before gently extricating himself from Donghyuck’s grabby hands.

“I’m only nineteen!” Donghyuck protests, and Jaehyun huffs out a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, Hyuckie—nineteen, not _nine_. We don’t have a super solid script here so if either of you go off on a tangent and try to bite each other’s head off, we’ll have a problem on our hands, so watch it, Donghyuck, Mark.”

“Hey!” Mark protests. “I’m not the one who picks fights—”

“Oh, don’t you try and pin this on me, Canada—”

“Will you shut up I’m trying to _speak_ ,”

“No one cares about—”

“ _Boys_.” Jaehyun says, loudly. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. It doesn’t matter who starts what—just don’t _continue_ it, okay? We’re on our best behavior today.”

“Fine,” Donghyuck finally says, sulkily. “I’ll behave.” And because he’s Donghyuck, and he predictably never misses an opportunity to be a brat, mutters under his breath, “can’t say the same for _Mark Lee_ , though.”

It takes every muscle in Mark’s body to physically restrain himself from lunging at Donghyuck.

“Sorry, hyung,” Mark says, and pointedly doesn’t look in the direction of Donghyuck’s annoying face at all. “I’ll tone it down.” And because Mark’s parents always taught him to be the bigger person, to _kill ‘em with kindness,_ he adds, just a touch haughtily, “It was _totally_ my bad.”

It fills him with some kind of vindictive pleasure to hear Donghyuck’s exasperated hiss.

“Um, excuse me?” A timid voice interjects, and Mark turns to see a frightened looking girl holding a clipboard and wearing a headset. “Mark-ssi, Jung Jaehyun-ssi, Lee Donghyuck-ssi… I’m an intern and, um… I was told to bring you three to the backstage changing rooms?”

“Ah, of course,” Jaehyun says, and smiles winningly at her. From the way she stands there, gaping at him, Mark can safely assume that she’s experiencing the full force of what he likes to call _the Jaehyun Effect_.

“Thank you,” Donghyuck emphasizes, which seems to startle the intern back into action.

“Oh!” She says, in a quiet little voice. “Right! Please, come this way.”

They follow her down to a door that’s hidden neatly behind the stage and down a hallway, where she eventually leads them to a changing room that’s also surprisingly busy. There’s a hanger with a few different outfits in the far right, and the entirety of the left-hand side of the room is composed of several white table vanities. A few more staff members with headsets seem to be poking around the room, double-checking if everything is as it should be, and there are two makeup artists that are currently hovering over Joohyun.

“There you are, Donghyuck!” Taeyong exclaims from where he’s standing by what appears to be a snack table. “I told you not to run off!”

“Ah, but I wanted to explore…” Donghyuck pouts, deliberately puffing his cheeks out.

“Never mind that,” Joohyun pipes up, as the makeup artists finish up so she can stand. Her hair is long and pretty, curled, deliberately pinned so that all of it falls over her right shoulder. “You all need to get your makeup done and fitted with mics. Even though filming doesn’t start for a while, we’re still on a schedule.”

“Ever the responsible one,” Jaehyun laughs. “Yes, yes, you’re right, obviously.”

Joohyun rolls her eyes but smiles to soften the blow. “Since _I’m_ on schedule,” she tells them, shrugging on her jacket, “I’ll head on out.”

“She’s so perfect,” Mark thinks he hears one of the staff whisper dreamily.

Before he even has the chance to react, a makeup artist is grabbing his arm and pulling him to the chair. “You need to fire whoever did your eyebrows before this,” he tells Mark, eyebrow pencil at the ready, brandished like a dagger, “they’re a complete and total disaster.”

Mark doesn’t think his eyebrows are _that_ bad… are they?

He can’t even open his mouth to protest the accusation because the makeup artist is poking and prodding at him fairly aggressively, and he fears that if he tries to speak, he’ll end up with a mouthful of sticky gloss. Luckily, this particular makeup artist is also terrifyingly efficient, and by the time he’s through with Mark, Mark admits that he looks pretty put-together. The makeup is definitely subtle, with a faint shading around his eyes—probably to make his face more discernable under stage lighting.

To his left, Jaehyun’s getting fervently praised for his great face by his makeup artist, and on the right, Donghyuck is sitting, blissfully silent, with his eyes closed and his face turned up to his makeup artist. Donghyuck’s eye makeup is visibly heavier than both his and Jaehyun’s, and the makeup artist seems to be having the time of her life as she swipes something bronze and vaguely sparkly across his closed lids.

“Your eyes are very nice,” she’s telling Donghyuck, “like, you can look very intense,” and then she goes on to explain how the shape (?) of Donghyuck’s eyes compliments certain styles of eye looks. It all sounds very complicated to Mark, so he tunes out and thanks the man who had did his makeup.

“Ah, you’re done?” Jaehyun notices, when Mark gets to his feet. “I’ll come with you.”

The following few hours are dedicated to a rundown of the plan—although there’s no explicit script to speak of, Mark does find that _One Hour Ace_ gives each of its guests several talking points to speak of, and they get a list of games that they might end up playing. There’s even a packet filled with the rules of each game, but the staff reassure them that they’re going to be going over the rules again during filming, and to not worry about messing up too badly because even though there’s going to be a live audience, the actual episode that’s going to be aired will be edited.

Soon enough, the live audience begins filtering in, and the din of the studio triples. Mark, standing on stage in between Yerim and Taeyong, feels sweat beginning to bead at his temple, rolling down his throat. He feels strangely exposed. The MCs, Im Kyung and Kim Minji, are huddled together at a podium that’s been erected to the left of the stage, whispering among themselves as they look over their respective scripts.

This is the first time Mark has been on a show where they weren’t privately introduced to the hosts beforehand, and he wonders if that’s just a side effect of being on such a popular program.

“Ah, Mark,” Yerim whispers, suddenly slotting herself by his side, and she looks wide-eyed and a little terrified. “Are you nervous? I’m _so_ nervous, what if I mess up?”

“You’ll do fine,” Mark reassures her. “I’m sure the hosts will especially look after us since we’re so new to this,” he chuckles, and he knows that Yerim intentionally overlooks the edge of nervousness that makes his voice crack.

“Yeah… I hope you’re right,” she frowns, and twists her fingers into the edge of her blouse. She looks very pretty today, with her long hair pulled back in a deliberately messy braid, dressed simply in a white blouse and pale blue jeans. Mark’s always liked Yerim, because she’s outgoing and easy to get along with—even before she’d joined the core cast, she’d been sociable and kind to everyone on set. He really hopes that the hosts don’t end up using her for the butt of their jokes today, because they do seem to latch onto at least one or two idol every episode. It’s always lighthearted, but sometimes difficult to watch.

Mark notices when Donghyuck finally arrives, and he really doesn’t look as though he’s here to film a variety show but rather some sort of photoshoot in which the theme is something intense like ‘ _intimacy_ ’, eyes kohl-rimmed and smudged. He looks deliberately messy, in a mature sort of way, and there’s something about the way his expression is arranged into a carefully blank canvas that sets Mark’s hackles rising.

He forces himself to turn away—just in time to see the hosts, Im Kyung and Kim Minji, gesturing for them to come around the podium.

“Sorry for the late introduction,” Im Kyung starts off, clapping his hands together, “we’ve been rushing around today—but we’re both thrilled to have you six as guests!” Everyone does their individual greetings and introductions, and when Mark goes to shake their hands, he finds that Im Kyung grips hard enough to hurt.

While Mark has never closely followed _One Hour Ace_ , it had nonetheless been a fairly large part of his childhood. His parents liked playing it when they had still been living abroad, whenever they felt homesick. He knew the personas in which Kyung and Minji liked to project—Kyung was loud and relied heavily on slapstick humor, whereas Minji was the wittier of the two, often preferring quieter, but much sharper quips. In all honesty, Mark was a little bit scared of Minji. While she admittedly was an accomplished comedian, he never appreciated the brand of humor that made others the target of jokes; it was a style he saw reflected in Donghyuck, and resented.

After introductions, Kyung gestured at some of the stagehands, indicating that it was time to get going.

“We’re going to get started now!” Minji said, loudly, into the mic, and waited as a hush swept over the audience members.

Mark hurried to get seated—there was a couch and a loveseat arranged in one line along the stage, and he found himself sandwiched between Taeyong and Joohyun. Donghyuck had managed to snag one of the loveseats, insistently pressing himself to Jaehyun’s side, while Yerim balanced herself precariously on the edge of the longer couch, next to Joohyun.

Mark has to hide the sudden flash of irritation at the thought that they hadn’t even bothered to arrange for enough seats for the six of them. It’s not like he really has the time to dwell on it anyways, though, because even as he’s shifting away from Taeyong’s knobby knees, the cameraman is counting down: _three, two, one_ —and they’re rolling.

“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, to _One Hour Ace,_ ” Im Kyung booms, and leaps to his feet. “Today, we’ve got some really special guests with us… do you know who they are? Oh, listen to that, you do, you do! Well, in case you’ve been living under a rock for the last _ten years_ , let us introduce to you: the cast of hit television drama, _Golden Days_!”

There’s a pause to allow for audience applause, and Mark is briefly overwhelmed by the sheer enthusiasm and volume that suddenly shakes the studio.

Minji suggests that they go around and introduce themselves, which they each do, briefly, each spending a few seconds gushing about how excited they were to be invited to the show, before they dive right into the _actually_ interesting part of the episode: the games.

“Ah, you know,” Kyung says, smiling mischievously as he turns to the audience. “It’s rare that we get actors on the show instead of idols, so Minji and I really spent a long time deliberating whether or not we should put them in teams, or have them compete individually…”

Minji hums in acquiescence, “Yes, exactly! Since actors usually follow individual schedules and work alone, we thought it would be fun to see how they work in _teams_ ,” she pauses to let the audience clap. “So, we eventually decided to pair them up into teams of two—who do you think should be partners?”

Instantly, the studio is flooded by shouting voices, yelled suggestions, and Kyung throws his head back to laugh. “Ah, I see we have lots of strong opinions! So, in order for things to be fair, we’ve prepared _this_ basket,” he holds up a pale pink plastic basket, with folded slips of paper in it, “filled with team numbers, and we’ll pass this around for them to draw out a slip!”

They do just that. Mark grabs a piece at random and unfolds the slip of paper to find a scribbled number two across it.

Taeyong is the first to announce his: “I pulled number three,” he says.

“Oh, me too!” Yerim says excitedly and waves her slip of paper at him.

Donghyuck’s voice cuts through the commotion—and the following words out of his mouth makes Mark’s heart drop to the pit of his stomach: “Ah, I got number two!”

All of a sudden, Mark thinks explicitly of leaving Seoul, and never returning.

It seems that Jaehyun and Joohyun have figured it out already, because Jaehyun starts snickering into the palm of his hand, and Joohyun has to bury her face into one of her already shaking shoulders. “Oh _no_ ,” Joohyun wheezes, “we’ve somehow managed to end up with the two brats on one team.”

“Oh?” Minji interjects, eyes twinkling. “Do you mean you also pulled number two, Mark?”

There’s no getting out of this one, Mark thinks miserably. Briefly, the thought of crumpling up the slip and shoving it into his mouth crosses his mind, but even Mark isn’t _that_ desperate. “…Yeah,” he admits, and for someone who’s supposed to be an actor, it is really, depressingly difficult for him not to sound defeated. But Jaehyun’s earlier warning about being on his best behavior is still fresh enough in his mind for him to reign in his sudden desire to leave.

“Oh, you pulled number two as well, Mark-hyung?” Donghyuck pipes up, and when Mark turns to look at him, his eyes are almost comically round, mouth opened in a surprised little ‘ _o_ ’. That’s his mocking rendition of some sort of childish innocence; a look that Mark is remarkably familiar with it. And although most wouldn’t read too far into it, Mark knows better than anyone that such a look is the precursor to _some_ sort of scheming plan.

Mark nods stiffly. Donghyuck’s mouth splits into a brilliant, disarming smile. “Oh, I _am_ excited,” he says, voice dipping into something akin to a purr, before he leans over to push Jaehyun off the loveseat. “If we’re going to be a team, hyung, you’re going to have to sit by me,” Donghyuck sings. “Come on, hurry, hurry!”

Mark wants to _die_.

Instead, he gets to his feet and grits his teeth into a broad smile, before trading spots with Jaehyun and squeezing onto the loveseat, beside Donghyuck. Donghyuck sidles close to him, wrapping his arms around Mark’s, and pressing his cheek to Mark’s shoulder so that his hair almost goes up Mark’s nose.

“Uh,” Mark says, trying his very best not to fling Donghyuck off the stage.

“Oh, relax,” Donghyuck hisses, quiet enough that no one else can hear, and pinches Mark’s hip. “Don’t be a baby.”

“I’m not—”

“Look at how _close_ you are,” Kyung cuts him off, and there’s definitely something devious in his eyes, “look, guys, aren’t they adorable?”

The roar the audience lets out is practically inhuman. Oh, _Christ_.

“We absolutely are, Mark-hyung is my absolute favorite person in the world,” Donghyuck replies smugly, and then—no, please, no—swings his legs over Mark’s lap so that he’s practically crushing him into the loveseat.

“ _Why_ ,” Mark groans, grunting as Donghyuck knees him in the spleen.

“Because we’re so close, obviously,” Donghyuck leers, and then pokes Mark in the cheek.

“You are _dead_ to me,” Mark hisses, unable to help himself, and Donghyuck’s smirk only widens.

“Ah, what are the rules to the first game?” Taeyong prompts, expression mild, which successfully diverts the attention of the hosts as they dive right into explaining how the game works.

So, the very first game they’re going to play is Charades—because of course they’re going to have a group of actors competing against one another in _Charades_.

“We’re going to play two rounds, so everyone gets a chance at being the actor and the guesser,” Minji explains. “Each team will have a list of up to twenty words per round, and each round has a time limit of three minutes. Obviously, the goal is to guess as many words as possible! In addition to that, the person who’s acting the words out will _not_ be allowed to use their voice at all.”

“I’ll guess,” Donghyuck says immediately, as he lifts himself off the loveseat, turning his beady little eyes down to look at Mark.

“Whatever you’re planning…” Mark begins, a note of warning in his voice.

Donghyuck only scoffs and waves him off dismissively. “Please, I’m not some sort of _amateur_. I know when I need to behave.” Before he continues, Donghyuck intentionally brings a hand up to cover the mic that’s attached to his collar, deliberately turning away from the camera: “Don’t be such a child—and for the record, I _don’t_ plan on losing, so please pull yourself together.”

“Yeah?” Mark raises his eyebrows. “ _I_ don’t plan on losing either, so here’s to hoping that you don’t hold me back.”

Donghyuck’s answering smile is sharp and predatory, dark eyes glittering something fierce. “We’ll see about that, Mark Lee.”

As it turns out: after ten years of really, seriously disliking someone, you aren’t going to find that you magically exist on the same wavelength.

Mark finds this out almost immediately into the game, when he goes up and tries to act out the word ‘airplane’, and Donghyuck just keeps guessing different types of bugs.

“Dragonfly! Mosquito! Bee! Ah, wait, I know! Cockroach!” Donghyuck shouts, visibly getting more and more agitated as everyone around them dissolves into helpless laughter.

“Are you serious?” Mark eventually shouts, so enraged he temporarily forgets that he’s not supposed to make any noise. “ _Cockroach?_ Do I _look_ like—”

“Pass, pass!” Donghyuck interrupts, practically vibrating in his seat. “Next one, next one!”

The next word is ‘cake’.

“Ah, what?” Mark groans, dismayed. How is he supposed to be specific about _that_? Eventually, he resorts to just miming out eating, to which Donghyuck starts shouting his guesses again.

“Food, hungry, uh… brushing your teeth?”

“Ah!” Mark shouts, pointing, indicating for Donghyuck to go back.

“Oh, um, food? It’s a kind of food?” At Mark’s nod, Donghyuck lets out a sustained whine. “Why is this so _difficult_ —Mark-hyung, why are you so bad at this?”

At this point, Taeyong is laughing so hard he’s stopped making noise entirely, flailing about behind Donghyuck as he struggles to remain upright. The rest of the cast aren’t faring any better, because Donghyuck and Mark are the last group to go, and they haven’t gotten anywhere near guessing a word correctly—so far, Jaehyun and Joohyun are in the lead, both surprisingly adept guessers although terrible mimers, with a total of nineteen correct words, followed by Taeyong and Yerim who have fifteen.

“Pass, pass,” Donghyuck cries, eventually, throwing himself back onto the couch and using his hands to cover his face. Even though he’s clearly frustrated, it’s also obvious that he’s having fun, because he keeps getting louder and louder, and more dramatic.

The next word is ‘annoying’. Immediately, Mark points right at Donghyuck. Minji and Kyung both start to cackle in the background, clapping delightedly.

“Me?” Donghyuck says, surprised. Mark nods. “Oh, is it some sort of quality I have? Yes?” At this point, Donghyuck’s eyes light up with something that seems a lot like recognition. But, because he’s also a little shit, Mark knows, he’s going to inject as much self-praise into the game as possible. “Hmm… handsome, perfect, smart, incredible,” all of which Mark furiously shakes his head to, miming an ‘X’ with his arms.

Donghyuck snickers at Mark. “Talented, cute, funny,” he keeps going, but just as Mark begins to roll up his sleeves in preparation to _attack_ him goddammit—two seconds before their time is up, Donghyuck throws his head back laughs, open and unrestrained. “Ah, I know it,” he says, and giggles, of all things, “it’s ‘annoying’.”

“Wow, how did you guess?” Minji interjects, and she’s definitely playing up her surprise. “That’s the only word that wasn’t a physical item!”

“Ah,” Donghyuck says, and pretends to smile bashfully. “It’s a running joke on set that I tend to act a little annoying,” _understatement of the year_ , “because I like to tease the other members of the cast!”

“Okay, round one for the Donghyuck Mark team: over!” Kyung exclaims. “They have: one point! Time to trade places!”

As they pass by one another, Donghyuck touches his hand to Mark’s elbow and whispers, “I’m really going to take this seriously, so don’t completely embarrass us and make sure to use your brain.”

“I’m not the one whose first instinct was to guess _cockroach_ when I was clearly miming an airplane,” Mark hisses, and Donghyuck only smiles winningly, sweeping past him.

Mark sits down on the couch to face Donghyuck.

“Alright,” someone says, “three, two, one, start!”

The following two minutes feel more like two seconds, what with the way Donghyuck keeps bouncing up and down when Mark fails to guess correctly, letting out wordless shrieks whenever Mark takes too long to make a guess—but in the end they miraculously end up faring just a little bit better than the first round, Mark having successfully guessed the words ‘artist’, ‘pizza’, and ‘swimming’.

But they’re still undeniably, embarrassingly… dead last.

“Don’t worry,” Kyung attempts to encourage, “you still have three more chances to redeem yourselves!”

Donghyuck groans, flinging himself over Mark as he pulls Mark down onto the couch beside him. “That was so _bad_ ,” he complains, and this is the first time in his life, probably, that Mark remembers agreeing with Donghyuck.

“We’ll win the next round,” Mark says.

“Ah…” Donghyuck lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, quiet while the others continue speaking. He brings up a hand again to cover his mic, just in case his voice somehow gets picked up. “How about we call a truce for today?” He suggests. “I mean, neither of us are particularly happy about being paired together, but no offense, my desire to _kick everyone’s asses_ can, um, _probably_ take a backseat to making your life miserable.”

“Only ‘probably’?” Mark snorts. “How typical.” He pauses only to watch Donghyuck stick his tongue out at him. “But yeah, whatever. Truce, I guess.”

It’s definitely weird, since Mark never imagined that it would be their shared hatred of losing that led them to the point of agreeing on a temporary ceasefire—but on the other hand, he realizes that it’s also kind of on-brand for them. Their rivalry, although born from a general mutual dislike, had always gone hand-in-hand with a sort of competitive spirit.

They’d spent much of their younger years competing over who got the most screen time, who was better at memorizing lines, who could eat more in one sitting (an ongoing competition that had continued until they’d both ended up throwing up after eating three burgers each in one sitting, to which there was an implicit agreement to never speak of it again), and so on and so forth. So maybe, in hindsight, it really _isn’t_ all that weird.

The next game is Pictionary, which, if Mark’s being honest, is really way too similar to the previous game of Charades—couldn’t Minji and Kyung (or, well, the actual show-writers) have been more inventive?

“I’m a fantastic artist,” Donghyuck says snootily, when it’s their turn again after the other two teams have gone. “So, you better up your guessing game, _hyung_.”

Mark, on his best behavior, only flashes at tight smile at the younger boy. “Of course.”

And maybe it’s that a switch has been flipped, or that Donghyuck is trying his best _not_ to get under Mark’s skin, or that he’s just being more patient in general, but Donghyuck doesn’t yell at Mark at all, this round. In return, Mark extends the same courtesy, and pretends not to notice the impressed way Taeyong and Joohyun keep looking at them.

It’s actually kind of embarrassing, that for the past ten years his and Donghyuck’s relationship has been so famously strained that their peers are actually, genuinely surprised now that they _aren’t_ at each other’s throats. Of course, calling a truce with Donghyuck doesn’t mean an end to all his petty muttered quips, but it’s subtle enough that Mark can just pretend that he can’t hear them. It’s not like he’s perfect either—he certainly tries his best to sass Donghyuck when the opportunity presents itself, but sarcasm has never been his forte, unfortunately.

Surprisingly enough, likely due to their provisional truce, they don’t actually end up coming in last—they come in second, after Taeyong and Yerim’s team. Donghyuck is, surprisingly, a pretty good artist (but it also helps that he mouths some of the answers to Mark when he thinks no one’s looking—everyone knows, but no one has the heart to deny Donghyuck of this one petty victory.)

“Not bad!” Donghyuck chirps, when the timer runs out and Mark puts down the marker. “Not _amazing_ , but you know!”

“Still a marked improvement?” Mark snorts and tries not to startle too badly when Donghyuck flings an arm around his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“I’m impressed,” Jaehyun says, and from the way his mouth is tilting upwards into a lopsided grin, he’s definitely not talking about their attempt at Pictionary.

“Don’t look so smug, Jaehyun-hyung,” Donghyuck says, and then lifts his other hand to interlock fingers with the one already slung around Mark’s shoulders so that he has Mark lassoed in his arms. Mark tries his best not to imagine the tightening coil of a boa constrictor. “We’ll _definitely_ kick your butt in the next game.”

“ _We_?” Taeyong mutters to Yerim, just quiet enough so that the mics can’t pick up on it, but Mark does.

He flushes a brilliant, violent red. “The next game!” He yells, suddenly, voice cracking. When everyone startles and turns to him, he feels himself grow even more flustered. “Um.” His voice cracks. “Shouldn’t we… move on to the next game?”

Donghyuck cackles and has to tuck his face into Mark’s shoulder to hide. His hair tickles Mark’s jaw and throat, and Mark has to actively resist the urge to shove him away to rub at the itching sensation. It makes his skin crawl, goosebumps tracing up his arms. He _knows_ how touchy Donghyuck is with people he’s comfortable around, seen it in action on set, in his YouTube videos, in the time he met Renjun and Jaemin. He’s just not used to being the subject of that clinginess, and it’s really, oddly disconcerting.

“Mark’s right,” Kyung says, voice booming. “The next game we have planned is quite fun! While you were busy with the game earlier, we set up a little something,” he steps to the side, and gestures at someone off-screen. A few moments later, the partition dividing the second half of the stage begins to lift, displaying what appears to be a fairly straightforward obstacle course.

“Oh?” Donghyuck straightens, thankfully disentangling from Mark. There’s a glint in his eyes. “Obstacle course relay race? I _do_ like this.” He glances at Mark.

“We’ll probably do better at this one,” Mark admits. “Since we don’t have to think very hard.”

“Did you just call us stupid?” Donghyuck wails. “ _Mark_!”

“Mark-hyung,” Mark reminds him smugly, because they’re still on air and Donghyuck actually has to listen to him here. Donghyuck makes a face but thankfully doesn’t retort.

The rules for the obstacle course relay race are simple—all they have to do is to each finish one circuit as quickly as they can, passing the baton off in between. The set-up of the obstacle course is also rather direct, not really designed to be difficult, just annoying—there’s a section in the middle where they have to keep a tissue up in the air for a few meters just by blowing on it, which is probably the most difficult part of the course. Otherwise, it seems pretty easy.

“I’ll go first,” Donghyuck suggests, once he sees that Yerim and Joohyun are the ones going first in their respective teams.

“Do you just want to have an easier time?” Mark raises his eyebrows, unimpressed.

“Are you kidding me?” Donghyuck snorts. “Yerim-noona and Joohyun-noona could wipe the floor with us all—it’s just that _you’ve_ probably got some lame ideas about chivalry and _let_ them take the win like some sort of loser.”

While that’s not exactly true, Mark admits that he’d probably feel uncomfortable going all out against the two girls—it’s the awkward reality of the entertainment industry: if he were to try too hard to beat them, netizens might call him an asshole for intentionally beating two girls, but if he were to lose, he’d still be a loser for, well, losing. Donghyuck, however, a well-known acerbic jokester, might be less restricted to that image.

“Also,” Donghyuck adds, lips quirking into a lopsided smirk. “I’m hoping Jaehyun-hyung gets competitive and tackles you.”

Ah… there it is.

“So, I’m the scapegoat, am I?”

“Only because my face is too cute to be injured,” Donghyuck tells Mark airily as they move to the starting line.

Donghyuck’s smile falls as he examines the obstacle course with critical eyes, hands on his hips. Mark watches, curious, as Donghyuck whips a hair tie out of seemingly nowhere, reaching up to tie his bangs up into a little ponytail that points straight up.

Mark can’t help the laugh. “What the heck,” he says, and Donghyuck whips around to look at him, ponytail bobbing. “It looks like a horn,” Mark says, and reaches out to tug on it before he can stop himself. “Suits you, since you’re, y’know, a demon.”

“Oi, hands off,” Donghyuck says without any heat. “This ponytail is what’s going to get us this victory.” He turns away from Mark and rolls his sleeves up to his elbow. “You’ll see.”

Mark laughs, again. 

Suddenly: “On your mark,” Minji shouts, startling everyone to attention, “get set… _go!_ ”

And Donghyuck takes off, not a moment’s hesitation.

As Mark watches, rolling his own sleeves up to his elbows, he has to admit that Donghyuck is _good_ —all lean lines and long legs, effortlessly light on his feet. Joohyun and Yerim aren’t far behind him, but there’s something graceful and efficient about the way Donghyuck moves, blowing past all the parts of the obstacle course with ease, even the part in the middle with the tissue-paper.

It’s at the tissue-paper section that Joohyun and Yerim trip over themselves, each having to start over a few times, but Donghyuck, somehow, miraculously, gets it on his first try. He lets out a triumphant yell, cheeks flushed as he turns and just happens to meet Mark’s eyes. Donghyuck’s smile is small but sharp, endlessly pleased as he sprints back towards Mark, hand outstretched with the baton.

“I did amazing,” he tells Mark breathlessly as they complete the pass. “So, you better not lose!”

The thought of losing the lead that Donghyuck had managed to get makes Mark cringe, because that would mean another eternity of getting reamed by, well, everyone, not even just Donghyuck.

He sets off, hurtling past each and every obstacle—and although he knows he’s nowhere near as graceful as Donghyuck, he’s fairly quick, and even if he trips up a few times, he’s firmly in the lead by the time he reaches the tissue-paper section. He groans aloud when he tries it for the first time and realizes that it’s near impossible to direct it to where he wants to go.

“ _Hurry!_ ” Donghyuck is yelling from behind him. “Do you want to get your butt kicked by Jaehyunie-hyung?”

“Man, do you ever stop talking?” Mark yells back, to a chorus of laughter from the audience and the hosts. After two more tries, he finally gets past the tissue-paper section—just as Jaehyun and Taeyong seem to be getting close, too.

But the hardest part is over, so Mark lowers his head and just _runs_. The rest of the obstacle course is a blur, and he’s definitely trying way too hard, but he can’t quite bring himself to feel embarrassed when he reaches the finish line first, nearly crashing headfirst into where Donghyuck is waiting.

Donghyuck’s been jumping up and down for the entirety of the time Mark had been going through the obstacle course, and when Mark passes the finish line, he lets out a happy little shriek and lunges, flinging his arms around Mark’s neck, temporarily rendering him a living statue, frozen and unsure of how to react. His arms hang at his sides limply, hand clenched, white-knuckled, around the baton.

“We won!” Donghyuck yells, right into Mark’s ear (seriously, is he _trying_ to make Mark go deaf?), bouncing hard enough to jostle Mark almost painfully.

“Wow, I think this is the happiest I’ve ever seen anyone be by just winning a single game,” Kyung laughs, interrupting Donghyuck’s excited shouting. “Donghyuck-ah, you’re adorable.”

The sound of Minji’s voice seems to startle Donghyuck out of his celebratory mood, and he immediately pulls away from Mark, expression embarrassed as he reaches up to run a hand through his hair sheepishly. “Ah, um,” he says, and giggles nervously (giggling, _again_!), “I guess I’m a little competitive. Sometimes I can get a little carried away.”

The hosts spend the next few minutes teasing Donghyuck and asking how the other teams feel about losing to the two youngest members.

“It’s cute watching Donghyuck excited, so I’m happy either way,” Taeyong says smilingly, and then goes pink when the audience collectively coos over him.

“Oh, look,” Minji says mildly, as staff begin to filter onto the stage, carrying with them a rather large plastic pool filled with colorful toy balls. “Here we have the ball pit for our final game!”

Mark and Yerim exchange semi-panicked looks— _ball pit_? That definitely wasn’t in the list of games they were handed, was it? This is the first time a game show has ever really gone off the script they provided, and honestly, Mark’s not a fan.

“What game are we playing?” Joohyun asks.

“Chicken fight,” Kyung grins, spreading his arms wide. “We couldn’t have you all jumping into a pool, so we decided to use a ball pit instead!”

“Ah…” Yerim raises her hand timidly. “What’s ‘Chicken’ fighting?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Minji claps her hands together. “In this version of Chicken fight, all three teams will be in the ball pit at the same time. Each team will choose one person to sit on top of the other’s shoulders, and the goal is to push over members of the other team. Anyone who falls, loses.”

Mark’s stomach drops. He sees Joohyun and Yerim exchange weary glances, because it’s clear they’re going to have to ride on the shoulders of Jaehyun and Taeyong—which, despite the fact that it’s a game, is somewhat of a mixed bag in terms of PR. There’s a chance that it could be brushed past without issue, but there’s also a non-zero chance that it’ll blow up into a scandal if they’re unlucky. Mark feels incredibly sorry for them. Even beyond that, however, it also means that either him or Donghyuck will have to get physical with the girls in order to push them over, and _that’s_ not a good look, either.

No one out of the six of them seem particularly thrilled about the development, but they’re professionals, so they feign excitement.

Donghyuck leans over to murmur into Mark’s ear. “I’ll sit on your shoulders because people probably won’t mind me pushing the girls as much,” he says. “But I think we should still mostly target Taeyong-hyung and Jaehyun-hyung, not the girls.”

“Yeah,” Mark bites back a sigh. “But…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Donghyuck interrupts, and shakes his head discreetly, jerking his chin towards the cameras and live audience. It’s a warning— _don’t look upset_.

“Ah, are you sure you can handle carrying Donghyuckie?” Jaehyun teases, as he, Mark, and Taeyong first step into the ball pit.

Mark sighs. “Probably not.”

Jaehyun only laughs, and squats near the ledge so that Joohyun can gingerly maneuver herself onto his shoulders. Her face is the very picture of concentration.

“Get over here,” Donghyuck whines, from where he’s sitting at the ledge, swinging his feet aimlessly. He makes grabby hands at Mark until he’s within reach, then he physically wrenches Mark around so that he can hook his ankles over Mark’s shoulders.

“ _Dude_ ,” Mark stumbles, almost falling, except Donghyuck is fisting his hands in Mark’s hair and heaving himself onto Mark’s shoulders. “What the—” Mark hisses when he gets the full brunt of Donghyuck’s weight, not expecting it. He understands why people usually play this game in water, now—they’re so unbalanced in the ball pit it’d be a miracle if they manage to stay upright on their own. He doesn’t even think they’d need to be pushed to fall over. Donghyuck probably doesn’t weigh all that much, but settled on Mark’s shoulders, he feels incredibly heavy, and Mark briefly laments the fact that he’s been skimping out on the gym a little too much recently.

Donghyuck’s thighs bracket his head, effectively muffling all sound, and it would make him hugely uncomfortable if it isn’t for the fact that he’s far too distracted by how hard Donghyuck’s pulling his hair.

“Why are you pulling,” he hisses, reaching up blindly slap at Donghyuck’s hand. “That _hurts_.”

“I’m trying to reenact _Ratatouille_ here, cut me some slack,” Donghyuck retorts, and then pulls extra hard, whipping Mark’s head to the right.

When this is over, Mark is going to drag Donghyuck to the nearest roof and fling him off it.

The start of the game is somewhat anticlimactic, because before they can even get to Taeyong and Yerim, Taeyong teeters and falls, and Yerim goes shrieking down with him. He sheepishly pulls the two of them out of the pit, and gamely weathers the teasing he’s subjected to from Minji and Kyung.

That leaves Jaehyun and Joohyun, which, admittedly, are the much stronger team between their two opponents anyways.

“Give up!” Donghyuck cries, and then slaps Mark’s shoulder like he’s showing off a car. “I’ve got this bad boy here ready to take you down!”

“What am I, a cow?” Mark mutters.

Joohyun laughs so hard she nearly falls off Jaehyun’s shoulders all on her own. “Donghyuck-ah, do you think you can take me?”

“Shouldn’t you be nice to me since I’m young and cute?” Donghyuck retorts. “Set a good example!”

“I’ll destroy you,” Joohyun tells him instead, grinning. “Sorry, Mark.”

“No, I’m extremely entertained,” Mark says, and then splutters when Donghyuck tightens his thighs around his head and neck.

“Forward march!” Donghyuck says, and then tugs at Mark’s hair. Again. At this point, Mark’s given up on getting him to stop.

Mark’s fully prepared to let Donghyuck do the bulk of the work, because he’s mostly concentrating on staying upright, and his shoulders and back are beginning to ache. So, he stands, trying to brace himself, as Donghyuck daringly reaches forward to push at Joohyun.

It’s five minutes of a precarious push-and-pull, and Mark’s pretty sure that by the end of it he’ll have a bald patch or two—but finally, _finally_ , Donghyuck manages to get a pretty solid shove against Jaehyun’s shoulder—solid enough so that he tips under the pressure, and falls backward as gently as possible so as not to crush Joohyun when she topples off him.

“We won!” Donghyuck cries, and then locks his knees around Mark’s neck.

“Wait—” Mark barely has a second to dwell in his confusion before Donghyuck is purposefully lurching backwards, sending the two of the careening into the ball pit in an insta-kill.

After flailing attempts to resurface: “ _Are you serious_!” Mark demands, to which he finds that Donghyuck is already upright and laughing at him.

“You should’ve seen your face,” Joohyun teases him, as she reaches over to pull him to his feet. “You and Donghyuck… always such a handful.”

And it’s true—he and Donghyuck _have_ always been difficult to deal this when together, he knows this better than anyone. In fact, it’s somewhat of a point of contention between his mother and father; while his mother doesn’t take his dislike of Donghyuck seriously, instead choosing to laugh at what she likes to call ‘their petty rivalry’ (which, alright, _fair_ ), Mark’s father takes a more solemn approach—and maybe it’s because Mark’s dad has always been a more introspective, stern personality, but the times he’d gone to visit Mark at work and had seen the way he’d interacted with Donghyuck… Mark can’t even count the number of lectures he’s gotten from his dad after each visit about what it means to be a good person, and to treat people kindly even when you don’t like them.

Today, though, Mark thinks that this is probably as close as he’ll get to experiencing Donghyuck the way most people experience him—that even though he’s still an annoying brat, there’s something about the way he’s been behaving that doesn’t exactly get under Mark’s skin. But change is always difficult, so Mark finds that rather than feeling relieved, he feels unsettled. Donghyuck doesn’t like Mark, has never liked him, and so to be treated in this casual, hands-on way… it feels unnatural, and makes him feel almost bitter.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when the hosts gather them and officially declare he and Donghyuck the winners, gifting them each a box of chocolates, and a plaque that reads _Ace of the Hour_. Mark makes note to share the chocolates with Jeno, Chenle, and Jisung the next time they meet, and thanks Minji and Kyung profusely.

It’s at this point they take a break in filming to let the live audience filter out, and in doing so, it takes about another hour for things to settle down, and for them to move into filming the second half of the program—which is the sit-down meal that functions as an interview. It’s a nice way to wind down filming, Mark thinks, as he sits down at a large round table between Yerim and Taeyong.

They arrange themselves in a crescent, so that no one’s back is to the cameras, and it’s another few minutes’ wait before the food is brought out.

“It’s hotpot today,” Kyung informs them, somewhat superfluously, because staff have already set up the miniature hotpots before each of them, alongside heaping platters of raw meat and vegetables. 

Although they’re technically supposed to be eating, Mark knows that it’s just yet another performative aspect of _One Hour Ace_. In all the past episodes, most guests seem to claim to be big eaters, excited about the veritable feast laid out before them, but they usually end up taking only a few bites here or there. So, they’re either just playing up their enjoyment of the food, or it’s all cut out in post—both of which seem probable.

“Wow…” Yerim breathes, next to Mark, eyes wide as she takes in all the food. “This is incredible,” she says, and then turns to Minji and Kyung to thank them for having them on the show again.

Minji throws back her head and laughs. “Ah, Yerim, you’re adorable,” she says. “One of the only celebrities we’ve had who is as sweet and enthusiastic behind the scenes as on camera… having you all here has been our pleasure, really.”

Kyung gestures for them to get ready—they’re about to start filming, rolling in _three, two,_ and…

“Welcome back, everyone!” Kyung says, directly to the camera. “We’re back again for a nice chat with the cast of _Golden Days_.”

Mark finds, eventually, that it’s easy enough just to tune out for this section, focusing instead on his plate, eating only a few bites of what he thinks might taste good. He’s introverted enough, and new enough to variety shows, that his quiet demeanor doesn’t get any raised eyebrows.

It’s Donghyuck, and surprisingly, Yerim, who are the life of the segment, both speaking eagerly and joking around.

Minji has grown fond of Yerim over the course of the few hours they’ve been on set, and Kyung seems to feed off her doting energy, so they tend to gush every time Yerim shyly makes another joke. It’s sweet to watch. The same cannot be said for their handling of Donghyuck, however. Neither Minji nor Kyung dote on him, instead responding to his jokes with sardonic quips that almost edge on flat-out disrespect.

“Donghyuck-ah,” Minji drawls, propping her chin up on her wrist. “We’ve all seen how busy you’ve been these past few years… what’s it like being a student with a full-time job? Or, I guess, unlike Mark and Yerim, it seems like you dropped out of high school?” She laughs airily, like it’s funny.

It’s only because Mark’s already watching Donghyuck for a reaction that he sees the way his smile freezes. Beside Donghyuck, Taeyong’s smile has long dropped, and for a split second, he looks _angry_. Joohyun looks visibly displeased as well, and Jaehyun’s expression has gone scarily blank.

“Ah,” Donghyuck says, and immediately his smile returns with the force of a thousand suns. “I did most of my schooling online, but—”

“Most? So, you aren’t currently in school?”

“Ah, no, but—” He’s still smiling, and somehow, it’s bright and not strained at all.

“Do you guys find it annoying to deal with him if he finds it difficult to understand the script?” Kyung says, and throws his head back to laugh.

Mark shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“I’m sorry?” Taeyong speaks, and despite his mild tone, it’s clear that he finds nothing amusing about the topic at hand. “I’m not sure I quite understand what you’re implying.”

“Oh, I mean,” Minji’s tone is light, and it’s clear that she hadn’t taken Taeyong’s earlier question as a word of warning. “Donghyuck has been working almost non-stop since he was, what, nine years old? Isn’t it difficult for him to work on the same level as everyone else now that he’s an adult, especially since he didn’t take a break to finish his education like Mark and Yerim?”

Mark wishes she would stop mentioning _his_ name in conjunction with Donghyuck’s, especially when it’s clear that she’s somehow managed to develop a sudden vendetta against him. Mark hates being compared, especially when it’s done in condemnation of someone else—even if that someone is Lee Donghyuck. Yerim is similarly frozen beside him, looking vaguely nauseous at being used as a scapegoat.

Taeyong interrupts Mark’s train of thought, shifting so that he’s sitting properly upright, straight-backed and stiff: “Donghyuck is incredibly professional when we’re on set. He’s very smart—he’s been balancing school and work well for _years_ as far as I can recall, despite the fact that he never speaks about it publicly. He actually has less than a year’s worth of credits left to fulfill before he can graduate.”

“Besides,” Jaehyun speaks up, and Mark watches the way he reaches over to wrap a hand comfortingly around the back of Donghyuck’s neck, squeezing gently. Donghyuck isn’t smiling anymore, but he doesn’t seem particularly upset. But then again, he _is_ an actor. “Formal education is great, but it doesn’t automatically discount anyone from… being a smart person, I think. Like Taeyong-hyung said—Donghyuckie’s obviously smart. He speaks well, memorizes lines the fastest, he’s passionate, quick-witted, and even though he’s younger than me I find that I can learn things from him.”

Yerim’s nodding rapidly, loudly agreeing, but Mark finds that he’s still frozen, that his tongue feels too big and clumsy in his mouth, throat dry. He doesn’t like where the conversation has gone. The lighthearted tone of the episode has shifted dramatically, and he finds that he doesn’t feel the desire to speak up at all when the conversation goes back to less insensitive topics.

They end filming like that, and even though Donghyuck seems perfectly happy, there’s a sour taste in Mark’s mouth, and his own goodbye is obviously lackluster. He doesn’t know why he’s so bothered, but he is.

To the side, Donghyuck is standing with his hands clasped in front of him, smiling, smiling. Still smiling.

~

[ENTER-TALK] Episode 328 of _One Hour Ace_ (ft. the cast of _Golden Days_ )

Has everyone watched the episode of _One Hour Ace_ that just came out last night? I have so many thoughts, not all of which are positive… But I’ll start with the good things, because I want this discussion to be fairly lighthearted. First of all, I really didn’t expect Mark and Donghyuck to be so funny together… Mark’s always seemed very awkward to me whenever he’s on shows??? But it seems like he seems comfortable around Donghyuck ㅋㅋㅋor maybe those are just my rose-tinted glasses~ The part where they were playing charades and the only word they managed to guess correctly was ‘annoying’ because that’s how the cast describes Donghyuck ㅋㅋㅋ Ah, cuties… Since we’ve only seen Mark on two talk-shows, I think (?), this was a great change of pace! He’s surprisingly competitive, it seems.

And Taeyong is so sweet… he was so gentle with Yerim, and he looked like a proud father talking about how seeing Donghyuck being happy about winning was good enough for himㅠㅠHe’s seriously the most adorable man alive. And he surprisingly ate really well in the last segment ㅎㅎㅎ Jaehyun and Joohyun are a powerhouse duo, too, I’d love to see the two of them on more shows together! They seem really chill and comfortable with each other; it was nice to watch.

But the hosts… the last segment… ah… just thinking about it is making me angry… how could they treat our sweetheart Lee Donghyuck like that? I was so frustrated while watching, especially because Donghyuck just kept on smiling, even though he was clearly getting insulted. I’m thankful the cast seemed upset on his behalf, too… they all seem to be good people.

1\. [+826, -24] Oh~ don’t even get me started about Mark and Donghyuck in this episode! They were _so_ funny, my cheeks hurt from laughing by the end of it… Mark getting so frustrated during charades that he started yelling… poor guy ㅋㅋㅋ He looked like he was _struggling_ to keep him and Donghyuck upright during the chicken fight in the ball pit, I’m surprised they managed to win. Speaking of the chicken fight, Taeyong and Jaehyun both seemed very careful with the girls—they were very polite, it was refreshing. It seems like they’re quite thoughtful, too. Somewhat tangential but Joohyun and Jaehyun are visual gods… every time they showed up on screen my heart fluttered. It was a fun episode!

2\. [+815, -67] The last segment pissed me off. I don’t have anything nice to say about the two hosts except that they treated Yerim well, but how dare they target Donghyuck-ah like that? They basically called him stupid… between the three of them, I assure you that it definitely isn’t Donghyuck who’s the idiot ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋHe reacted so gracefully when they started straight-up insulting him to his face… if it were me, I think would’ve started swinging and cursing them out right then and there, seriously. Taeyong was so angry, too, I can’t believe the hosts didn’t notice he was giving them a chance to backtrack when he asked for clarification. Taeyong-ah, Jaehyun, thank you for defending and protecting Donghyuck, I love you.

3\. [+789, -13] Speaking of the last segment… did you see how uncomfortable Mark looked when the hosts compared Donghyuck to him and Yerim? After they started being rude, he went totally silent… I feel like I’m a bit like Mark in that way; when I’m uncomfortable or feeling awkward I tend to shut down. Seriously, why did they think saying those things was a good idea? It’s not like anyone laughed aside from them. Also, why didn’t the editor cut it out? The tone of the segment got so bad afterwards… No matter how you think about it it’s just stupid.

4\. [+776, -18] Joohyun-ah, Yerim-ah… you both are so beautiful…

5\. [+702, -2] You all already said what I thought about the last part of the segment, so I just wanted to chip in and say that Yerim did really well! I would’ve never thought that this was her first variety show, she’s a total natural. And wow, Donghyuck is hilarious… if he were to host his own show, I would watch it for sure. Also, his makeup and outfit were both so nicely done, so, thank you, stylist-nim ㅠㅠ When he came out for the first time I think I fell in love… Seriously, how can a man be so pretty? Same goes for Taeyong, tbh. Watching the cast interact with each other was really nice, you can tell that they’re super comfortable around one another. It’s so funny watching the older members of the cast baby the younger ones even though they’re adults now ㅋㅋ ah, the nostalgia is real~

6\. [+35, -923] ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ Lee Donghyuck deserved to get embarrassed ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋAnd Mark Lee wasn’t quiet at the end because he was uncomfortable, he was quiet because he had nothing to say in defense of him, you’re all delusional fangirls ㅋㅋㅋㅋ

7\. [+689, -5] Seriously what the hell is wrong with you, anon? Do you just hang around in the forums all day waiting to insult people? Get a life. Lee Donghyuck is a hundred million times better than you. Gosh, people are the worst.

8\. [+652, -13] ㅋㅋㅋㅋ Mark and Donghyuck Tom and Jerry couple ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this... was way longer than i'd planned on it being
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/epistolarymoon) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/letterstothemoon)!


	5. Chapter 5

**[EXCERPT] Behind the Scenes of** **_Golden Days_ ** **: A Chat with the Minds Behind Your Favorite Drama**

By: Lee Areum

A month before longtime fan favorite drama, _Golden Days,_ was set to air, I had the good fortune of being able to meet with the two men responsible for what is arguably the most well-loved family drama in recent Korean television history: Moon Taeil and Kim Doyoung.

Perhaps you aren’t familiar with the two—which is understandable, because neither have particularly strong presences in the media. However, the one story that _is_ well known is this: _Golden Days_ had its a humble beginnings as a collaborative project in Taeil’s final year at university. Doyoung, who had been a first year at the time, had written a script that he’d asked Taeil to bring to life. They ended up casting Lee Taeyong, an acquaintance of Doyoung and still in his final year of high school, to play the part of Lee Joonhyung.

The pilot episode aired at their university theatre, except neither Taeil nor Doyoung could have expected that a producer would take interest and ask them to continue filming—to which they did, amassing countless fans, and hundreds of episodes. Perhaps it may even be said that the two are prodigies in their respective fields, and endlessly lucky. The stars had aligned _just so_ to bring Moon Taeil and Kim Doyoung together.

Now, in returning to the actual day of the interview: When I first walked into the café, I was incredibly nervous. Having never met the two of them before, I only had a brief impression of what they looked like. Aside from that, I was going in blind. Would they be kind? Would they answer all of my questions?

The café was small and busy, and tucked away in a corner sat Moon Taeil and Kim Doyoung. Both were unassuming presences, quiet and calm, and it took me nearly a full two minutes before I spotted them. Aflutter with nerves, I steeled myself and walked to the table to introduce myself. They welcomed me—and funnily enough, Kim Doyoung had bought me both an Americano and a vanilla latte, uncertain of which option I would have preferred—how touching! (The truth is this: I’m not a coffee person—but I took the latte with gusto, because really, what other choice did I have, looking into the sweet, concerned eyes of Kim Doyoung?)

I had been intimidated at first, a worry which was dispelled almost immediately. Taeil, surprisingly fond of bad jokes, seemed content to speak casually. Doyoung was a little stiffer, but he spoke intently, and clearly. Personally, as a longtime fan of _Golden Days_ , I was excited to dive into the questions.

“Why did you two decide to return with a miniseries?” I asked. “It’s such a surprise, especially since _Golden Days’_ end had seemed so final two years ago.”

Taeil smiled. “You’re right—neither Doyoung nor I had any plans of continuing the series, at first. We only really thought of returning with a final miniseries due to popular demand. Of course, the two of us love this project, so it wasn’t difficult to think of more stories about the characters, but the miniseries is only here because of the support of the fans.”

“There’s no other way of putting it: _Golden Days_ is my magnum opus,” Doyoung continued. “Which is why there’s always the concern of dragging a storyline out too long, beating a dead horse, that sort of thing. Especially since the actual show aired for well over eight years. Which is why, when we thought of doing a continuation, we decided on a miniseries. There’s going to be a simpler plot, and the focus will have somewhat shifted more to the younger members of the cast, although the main three—Joonhyung, Seojoon, and Jiwon, if you recall—still have important roles.”

“Speaking of shifting focuses to the younger characters,” I said, and edged forward in my seat, excited. “Could you elaborate on that?”

“Well, the story picks off during their transition from high school to university, while the older characters move from university into the workforce,” Doyoung says. “They’re both important transitions—it shows how they’ve all grown up. I don’t want to spoil anything there, but the storyline is centered around the troubles we all face as we mature; how it feels to have to leave home, to grow apart from your loved ones, to have to deal with no longer seeing your best friends all the time, to have to make a choice between what you want versus what’s expected of you.”

“It’s a progression of ‘firsts’,” Taeil chips in. “First time leaving home, first loves, first heartbreaks… all fun things, really.”

“First loves!” I cry, delighted. “Oh, how sweet. Now, in moving on from the plotline itself, how has it been working with the cast this time around? Has anything changed?”

“Not particularly,” Taeil shakes his head. “Although we haven’t worked together in about two years, the degree of familiarity between us all hasn’t changed or lessened at all. Everyone still works well; we’ve always had good synergy.”

Doyoung nods in agreement.

“Have there been any fun stories about life on set?” I ask, “I _am_ here to be nosy, after all.”

“Ah,” says Taeil, and laughs a little. “I don’t think I have any particularly juicy stories, but it’s been really great having all the kids back on set. Donghyuck especially,” he says, and exchanges a knowing look with Doyoung, who seems somehow beleaguered.

“Oh?” I prompt. “Why Donghyuck in particular?”

“Donghyuck’s very mischievous—he has a super playful personality—so he’s really the life and spirit of the cast,” Taeil explains, “it’s very refreshing having him around. He’s always teasing the other cast members and keeping the energy high.”

“Don’t play favorites so obviously, hyung,” Doyoung scolds. “Taeil-hyung definitely has a soft spot for Donghyuckie,” Doyoung says, and then ducks away from Taeil’s jabbing hand. “But seriously, it’s been great having everyone back. There are stories on set, but we’re actually thinking about releasing a few behind-the-scenes clips here or there, especially since we’re going to be going to Busan to film on location in a few weeks’ time,” he glances at Taeil, “so I suppose you’ll have to look forward to that.”

~

“Have you got all your things?” Doyoung asks anxiously, as he holds his clipboard to his chest.

“Ah, hyung, why are you nagging us,” Donghyuck whines, “you’ve already checked with us like _three times_! Everyone’s ready to go!”

Doyoung shoots him a glare. “That’s because I don’t want to get halfway to the train station only for _someone_ to realize that they’ve forgotten their ticket.”

“Ah,” Taeyong says, and goes vaguely pink. “That was just the one time, though.”

“One time too many,” Doyoung grumbles, but seems to accept their supposed readiness at face value.

Mark’s excited to go to Busan for the weekend—this is the farthest they’ve ever gone to film anything, and even though it’s for work, he hopes he’ll have some free time to explore, maybe pick up some nice snacks to bring back.

Taeil and the other half of the cast have all already arrived at Busan two days ago along with the rest of staff, while Doyoung has been tasked with bringing Taeyong, Donghyuck, and Mark to the shoot. They’re stretched a little thin, and Mark secretly thinks that they should maybe hire a few set assistants so Doyoung doesn’t have to do anything beyond, you know, writing the script. Especially since when he’s stressed, he tends to get… shout-y. Doyoung is seriously scary when he’s mad, okay?

“We’re ready to go,” Mark assures Doyoung. “Seriously.”

Doyoung squints at him. “Somehow, I don’t trust you,” he mutters, but turns and heads towards the door where Johnny’s waiting to drive them to the train station. Usually Johnny isn’t too involved in things related to _Golden Days_ , but he’d jumped at the chance to spend time with Doyoung and Taeyong (Johnny likes annoying Doyoung, and he’d said something along the lines of: “ _For a celebrity Taeyong sure is easy to embarrass, huh_ ,” which is, Mark admits, one of the many reasons why Taeyong is great). Also, for some reason, Johnny has a massive soft spot for Donghyuck—Mark’s pretty sure he’s heard Johnny call Donghyuck his ‘son’ at least three times.

“I call shotgun,” Doyoung tells them smarmily, and then slides in beside Johnny, leaving them to put their bags in the trunk. Mark bites back a sigh.

“I’ll sit in the middle,” Taeyong volunteers tiredly. “It’s too early for you two to start brawling.”

“What are you talking about,” Donghyuck pouts, without any heat, “I’m an angel.”

The drive, surprisingly, goes smoothly—or maybe it isn’t surprising that Johnny’s always been a good conversationalist, slick with a good sense of humor. It’s easy to fawn over Johnny, Mark thinks. If he weren’t a manager, he’d definitely do great as a radio host or actor, probably.

When they reach the station, Johnny helps them unload the trunk, before bidding them a cheerful goodbye.

The actual train ride is similarly toned-down, most of them opting to nap for the entirety of the trip. By the time they arrive to Busan, Mark’s half-asleep and not paying much attention as Doyoung hails a cab and gets them to the hotel. He ends up falling asleep entirely, leaning against Taeyong’s bony shoulder.

“We’re here,” Taeyong murmurs, shaking Mark awake. “Check-in first and the two of us have two hours to rest before we need to be on set.”

“Yeah, okay,” he bites back a yawn, and trails in after Doyoung to check-in.

Mark has the schedule for today typed haphazardly into his phone—Taeil had sent it to them all a week ago, since filming on location is always a little more stressful than filming in the regular studio. Luckily, they’re just filming a vacation arc, which means that for the most part, the scenes aren’t going to be too fraught with emotion—although Mark does know that there’s a pretty big fight-scene that’s supposed to be filmed today. Honestly, he’s just choosing to pretend that it isn’t happening because yeah, he really just wants to relax on the beach, okay, sue him.

But by the time he’s actually checked-in (he’s rooming with Taeyong this time), he’s not all that tired anymore. Sitting on the edge of the bed near the window, Mark kicks his feet back and forth, thinking. After a moment’s consideration, he decides that he might as well go down to the set and check on everyone else.

“Ah, hyung,” he asks Taeyong, who’s in the bathroom and setting up his toiletries, “do you know where we’re filming?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong says distractedly, “after exiting the lobby go straight until you reach the beach and then turn right and keep walking—you should see everyone then.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Mark chirps, and then grabs his jacket to go downstairs.

It’s a little chilly, if he’s being honest, even though it’s already midway through March now—but it’s refreshing, and the air smells distinctly salty, like the sea. Mark wears a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, because even though he isn’t necessarily a sought-after star, he does get recognized surprisingly often.

There’s something distinctly different about Busan, like the days move slower or the people are kinder, or something to that effect—every time Mark visits, he feels _happy_ , but maybe that just comes with the territory of it being a seaside town.

Following Taeyong’s directions does in fact lead him to where they’re filming, a private area of the beach that’s been cordoned off from the public—although there’s no shortage of fans scattered at the edges with their phones held up. He ducks past and takes the longer way around, so he doesn’t get caught up in the onlookers.

Jaehyun, Joohyun and Donghyuck are filming a scene where Joohyun and Jaehyun’s characters (Seojoon and Jiwon) are trying to have a romantic date of some sort except Donghyuck’s character keeps butting in as an unintentional third wheel.

Mark seems to have caught them in between takes, because Donghyuck’s standing under the shade of one of the temporary canopies they’ve set up, face set in a subtle frown as he looks down at his phone. It’s unlike him to be withdrawn, Mark thinks, as he walks closer—usually he’s clinging to Taeil or bothering Jaehyun and Joohyun. Except now he’s leaning with his hip against the foldable table, looking almost upset. His bangs are down and deliberately tousled, and they hide his eyes.

“Oh, Mark!” Exclaims Joohyun, and Mark immediately drops his gaze so that he’s not caught staring at Donghyuck. “You’re here!”

“Ah, yeah,” he says, and smiles as Jaehyun and Joohyun jog over to give him hugs. “Are you guys done, or…?”

“Oh, not at all,” Joohyun waves dismissively, “there’s an issue with one of the mics and Yuta and Sicheng are trying to figure it out. We should be good to go in a bit, though.” She glances over her shoulder, to where Yerim is speaking excitedly with Taeil, who’s starting to look a touch overwhelmed. “Uh… I should probably go and rescue Taeil from Yerim…” 

“Was your trip down here alright?” Jaehyun asks.

“Well, I’m here in one piece, aren’t I?” Mark says, and grins.

Jaehyun shoots him a distinctly unamused look. “On a more serious note, though,” he comes closer, lowering his head so he’s murmuring almost directly into Mark’s ear, “I don’t know what it is about Donghyuck today, but his mood is a little weird, so it might be good to tread lightly.”

“What do you mean, ‘a little weird’?”

Jaehyun shrugs, but his usually neutral expression is tinged with something almost concerned. “I don’t know. It’s just. Weird.”

 _Very descriptive, Jaehyun, thank you_.

Even when Jaehyun is called back to film and Mark settles down to watch from the side, he’s thinking about what Jaehyun had said. Donghyuck’s mood is ‘a little weird’ today, whatever that’s supposed to mean—is he in a _bad_ mood? Jaehyun would’ve specified if he was, right? Mark already barely knows how deal with Donghyuck on a good day, he really doesn’t feel like having a more difficult time of it now.

Maybe Jaehyun’s just being paranoid, Mark thinks.

But, as time passes, and Mark continues to observe, he realizes that Donghyuck _is_ in a strange mood. Mark can’t seem to pinpoint whether or not the mood is negative in any way, but Donghyuck certainly is unusually withdrawn. It’s a jarring shift from how upbeat he’d been earlier in the day, during their commute to Busan, and it seems as though it’s come out of nowhere.

In between takes, Joohyun and Yerim exchange confused-concerned looks, and Jaehyun seems to make a pointed effort to speak directly to Donghyuck, who responds in stilted, soft-spoken one-word answers. His scenes don’t seem to take any longer than they do usually, though, so it isn’t bad enough to affect his work, Mark supposes.

He doesn’t know why he’s so curious, but this is one of the few times Mark has ever seen Donghyuck so quiet. Even when they were kids and Donghyuck was upset he was usually the type that would let whatever was bothering him build and build until he exploded, a mess of snot and tears. Of course, Donghyuck stopped throwing tantrums on set by the time he was about eleven or twelve, but all his weird moods had never seemed to seep him of the energy that perpetually thrummed in his veins.

It’s certainly strange. So many things recently have been strange, Mark thinks. He doesn’t know what’s changed.

Time passes remarkably quickly while he’s watching, and before he knows it it’s time for them all to film a group scene, in a new set that’s partially indoors.

Donghyuck stands to the side, glued to his phone as everything gets set up. Mark, somehow, wants to go over and bother him, rile him up in a way that he’s used to—but the thing is this: Mark has never been the one to initiate interaction with Donghyuck, it’s always been the other way around.

“Alright, on set, everyone!” Taeil gestures for everyone to gather so that they can start filming.

In between one of the takes after Donghyuck’s accidentally flubbed one of his lines, Mark snorts and goes, “nice going, _genius_ ,” a phrase that would usually warrant an outraged gasp and a snarky retort, but instead Donghyuck only turns to look at Mark, eyes heavy-lidded and mouth twisted into something small and downturned.

Immediately, Mark feels absolutely horrible. His relationship with Donghyuck has always been a push-and-pull of bad quips, but Donghyuck’s lack of response is making him feel genuinely mean—like he’s kicking someone who’s already down, so he snaps his mouth closed and resolves not to speak unless he’s reciting his lines. Besides, between the two of them, it’s never been Mark who instigates anything, so he’d rather not start now.

He keeps darting glances at Donghyuck, from the corner of his eyes, and there’s a roiling, uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. What’s worse is that he knows they’re going to be shooting a fairly high-tension scene in a bit, and Mark has no idea how that’ll go, now. In the past when he and Donghyuck had had to shoot difficult scenes, Donghyuck was always tense, scarily focused. But this doesn’t read like focus to Mark—this reads like… like nothing at all, really.

He’s hardly aware of his surroundings, even while filming the easier scenes, his mind left free to wander. Taeyong seems distracted too, maybe not by Donghyuck, but everyone’s energy seems stilted and plain _off_ , despite all of Taeil’s efforts in keeping things running smoothly.

By the end of Mark’s first scene of the day, Taeil’s brow is furrowed and his mouth is pressed into a thin line. He doesn’t look irritated, not exactly, but there’s definitely a strained set to his shoulders that hadn’t been there only an hour earlier. Or maybe Mark is just reading too much into things—thrown off kilter by Lee _freaking_ Donghyuck, as always, because Mark has never been all that good at ignoring the younger boy, has never been good at turning his back to the most infuriating, confusing person he has ever met.

The air grows chillier, and the wind picks up. From the set, the sprawl of the beach is just barely visible. It’s getting later, sun hanging low in the sky—a blazing orange globe, casting gold across the entire stretch of the beach, glinting off the sway of the waves. It’s beautiful. Mark can scarcely take it in.

> FADE IN:

THE BEACH AT DUSK

[Minjae is sitting alone at the edge of the surf, staring into the distance. Hyunwoo approaches.]

HYUNWOO

Have you been out here the whole time?

MINJAE

Mhm.

HYUNWOO

You missed the barbecue.

[A long pause. Minjae doesn’t respond.]

HYUNWOO

Dude, are you okay?

MINJAE

I’m tired.

HYUNWOO

Then should we head back to the house?

MINJAE

Not that kind of tired.

[Pause.]

MINJAE

I think I want to be left alone.

~

Before he knows it, Mark’s standing over Donghyuck’s seated figure at the beach, filming their fight scene. It’s more than just a little chilly now, and goosebumps race up his arms and at the nape of his neck in wake of the ocean breeze. The sun is almost fully set, and the audience they’d amassed earlier has almost entirely dissipated.

Donghyuck’s sitting atop a spread jacket, and even though he’s in a long-sleeved shirt, it’s thin and it’s clear that he’s cold, nose and ears flushed, with his arms wrapped around his knees. He doesn’t stir when Mark comes to a standstill beside him, expression empty, a little lost.

Here, caught in the dying embers of the setting sun, Mark thinks that Donghyuck could almost be beautiful.

“Have you been out here the whole time?” Mark asked, and he thinks that maybe he’s speaking too quietly, but Taeil doesn’t make any move to stop the scene.

Donghyuck hums, eyes still firmly set on the horizon.

“You missed the barbecue,” Mark says, and it takes all of his energy to sound somewhat nonchalant.

He waits several long beats, and Donghyuck is appropriately silent. The breeze ruffles Donghyuck’s hair, glinting like spun gold under the fading vestiges of sunlight. His fingers, twisted together over his calves, look pink and chapped. He’s turned mostly away from Mark, profile only half-visible, and his lack of reaction seems almost too obvious. Mark wonders why neither Doyoung nor Taeil have called for a stop—they _must_ think that Donghyuck’s acting is a bit too listless, right?

“Dude, are you okay?”

Donghyuck finally reacts, if only just to shift so that his legs are crossed beneath him. His face is still turned away from Mark, head bowed. Mark can count the ridges of his spine. “I’m tired.” It comes out a whisper.

“Then should we head back to the house?” Mark wonders if this is where Hyunwoo would feel anxious, if he would feel genuinely concerned about his best friend.

A huff of breathless laughter escapes Donghyuck—it’s unamused, nothing more than a wry exhalation. “Not that kind of tired, Hyunwoo.” Donghyuck turns even further, so all Mark can see is the tip of his red ear, the back of his neck. “I think I want to be left alone.”

“We came here for a group trip so that we could actually spend some time together as a group before we graduate,” Mark interjects, sounding appropriately frustrated. “And in the three days we’ve been here I haven’t seen you for more than five minutes at a time even _once_ , because you keep disappearing!”

“Hyunwoo.”

“Don’t _Hyunwoo_ me. Where do you keep vanishing off to? Are you just sitting here, what, feeling sorry for yourself? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong!”

At this point, Donghyuck whips around, tilting his face up to look Mark in the eye. Mark’s shock, this time, is not at all scripted because when they make eye contact, Donghyuck’s eyes are glassy with tears. Crying hadn’t been in the screenplay at all—except neither Taeil nor Doyoung are calling to cut, so maybe this is okay? Mark’s always admired how easily Donghyuck seemed to do things like this, how easily crying on command seemed to come to him.

“Nothing’s wrong, and I don’t _need_ you to fix anything,” Donghyuck spits, and he gets to his feet, drawing in close, jabbing a finger into Mark’s chest. “All I asked was for you to leave me alone, and you can’t even do that!”

“How could you say that nothing’s wrong when something very clearly is!” Mark retorts, voice rising in volume. Donghyuck’s glaring at him, eyes red-rimmed and still very, very glossy.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he snarls, “just leave me alone for once, Kim Hyunwoo!”

Before he can turn to leave, Mark reaches forward to grab his shoulder. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing! _Nothing_.” Donghyuck voice wobbles, and he’s clearly avoiding Mark’s stare, facing towards the surf, blinking rapidly. “Just leave.”

“Why are you avoiding the question?”

“Can you stop _fucking_ interrogating me and leave me alone!” Donghyuck finally snaps, slapping Mark’s hand away from his shoulder. Mark is genuinely stunned to silence. The swearing had absolutely not been part of the script, except even now, no one is telling them to stop.

“I’m just worried about you, Minjae,” he lowers his voice, drawing back so that his hands are clenched by his sides. Donghyuck looks at him, wild-eyed, chest heaving.

“Does it make you feel good?” Donghyuck hisses, and takes a step forward, while Mark stumbles back. “Does it make you feel virtuous, to know that you’re doing better than me? What does it feel like, to be the better one between the two of us? Do you like seeing me like this? Is that it?” As he speaks, he gets louder, voice thick and bitter. His eyes are oh-so-very bright.

“What are you talking about—”

“I know that I’ve always been less impressive,” Donghyuck says, voice cracking notably at the last word. “Does it make you feel better about yourself, to be able to look down on me, to pity me like this, Kim Hyunwoo?” He’s openly crying now, face twisted in anger, and Mark can only watch with some sort of horrified awe at Donghyuck’s sheer ability.

“I’ve never—”

“You _never_ listen,” Donghyuck spits, and wipes angrily at his tears. “I asked for you to leave me alone, and you push, and you push, and you _push_. You’re so self-involved that even your concern about me is overshadowed by your own bullshit ideas, it’s unbelievable.” At that, he pushes past Mark, shoulder slamming into his, and Mark’s left alone at the beach, silent and stunned, for several long moments.

It seems as though everyone on set has been holding their breath for the past five minutes, because when Taeil’s voice splits through the stillness (“And… _cut_!”) everyone seems to let out simultaneous exhales of relief.

“Wow,” says Doyoung, finally. “That was… great, you two.”

Except it seems to have fallen on deaf ears, as Donghyuck’s already retreated to the corner of the set, tissues already held up to his eyes in two balled up fists. His shoulders are hunched, still heaving unevenly. It’s been so long since Mark’s seen Donghyuck film such an emotionally charged scene that he can’t even remember if he’s ever seen Donghyuck cry for a role like this.

Somehow, he wants to go over to talk to Donghyuck, to see if he’d snap back to his usual self—but he can’t muster up the courage. Besides, Taeyong’s already beside him, and it seems as though Donghyuck _isn’t_ bouncing back, eyes still red-rimmed, with his shoulders hunched as Taeyong rubs between his shoulder-blades.

Mark thinks back to his conversation with Taeil, weeks ago. _Donghyuck’s what you would call a method actor. He really tries to get into the head of whoever he’s playing._ Maybe that’s what it is, he thinks uncertainly. Maybe Donghyuck just got _really_ into Minjae’s head. He doesn’t notice Doyoung’s approach until the older man clears his throat.

“Oh!” Mark jolts to attention. “Doyoung-hyung!”

“That was a really good take,” Doyoung tells him. “It’s been a while since we had a one-take wonder.”

“Donghyuck…” his eyes drift to Donghyuck’s hunched figure, tucked in next to Taeyong. “I didn’t think he’d swear. Or cry, actually.”

Doyoung nods. “I mean, I didn’t imagine the scene being as emotionally charged as it turned out, but… Donghyuck’s vision of Minjae here, I think, fit better than mine ever did. But you did good, rolling with the punches like that.”

“Thanks, hyung.”

As Doyoung leaves, Mark watches Donghyuck, uncertain, feeling as though the ground is opening up beneath his very feet.

~

[ENTER-TALK] On the Set of _Golden Days_ : Episode 1

[ ** _Attached File_** : _GDBehindVlog.mp4_ ; _8 minutes 23 seconds_ ]

1\. [+1280, -20] Woah, I didn’t expect that we’d get behind the scenes clips before the drama even starts airing… wow, that really speaks to how much people are anticipating _Golden Days’_ return, I guess ㅋㅋ It’s really interesting because we rarely get this kind of content from non-idols! It’s nice to see that they all seem to get along fine on set, everyone seems very casual and comfortable with each other. And wow, even though I live in Busan, somehow the coast looks prettier when they’re there ㅋㅋㅋ Also, did any of you all see in the background, at 7:45? That’s Donghyuck, isn’t it? He looks really sad, or tired? Is it because of the scene they were filming that Jaehyun mentioned?

2\. [+1108, -13] Yeah, I noticed that clip of Donghyuck, too! I think you’re right, it’s probably just after filming a difficult scene. But if that’s so I can’t explain why Mark looks so concerned, there? You see the way he keeps glancing in Donghyuck’s direction, right? Even though he’s talking to Yerim and Taeil… I think something serious happened.

3\. [+1102, -57] I think you all need to stop reading too much into these things… ㅋㅋㅋㅋ at the end of the day you don’t know these people, and you don’t know what’s really going on, so overanalyzing these little things will just become mentally exhausting. Just be thankful we get this content at all. Like, look at how good Jaehyun and Taeyong look, lol. Also, did any of you expect the _scriptwriter_ to be so hot? What the hell.

~

At about midnight, when filming officially wraps for the day, Mark finds that he seems to have misplaced his coat—which is unfortunate, because he’s _freezing_.

“Are you heading back to the room?” Taeyong asks, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

“Ah, yeah, I just need to find my coat first.” Mark assures him, and then has to weather a full-bodied shiver. “Christ, it’s cold.”

“It’s terrible,” Taeyong says mournfully, looking tiny in his giant puffer jacket and beanie. “Well, hurry back, don’t catch a cold. Do you know where you left your jacket?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s either in the studio set or just further down the beach,” Mark says, and wraps his own arms around himself. “If it’s not in either of those places I’ll just head back.” 

Taeyong bids him goodbye, and Mark sniffles—his nose has already started to run—and begins the long trek down the beach. His coat isn’t there, which means it’s probably at the studio. He bites back a groan and turns on his heels to make his way back.

The studio is probably locked, Mark reasons, as he makes the irritating trek back up the beach—except when he arrives at the back entrance, he finds that the door is unlocked, and about half of the lights are still on. Maybe someone from staff had stayed behind to do some late-night editing? The back entrance opens up into the hallway, which leads into a few changing rooms and the main set, where they’d been earlier in the day.

Mark pushes the door open, trying to remember if he’d left his coat in one of the changing rooms or the set. As he’s about walk past the first changing room, he hears two voices, and recognizes one: Donghyuck.

“You got all that?” The other voice asks, and it’s definitely a man’s voice.

“I think so.”

“I’ll go over it again. So, tomorrow, following filming, there’s the photoshoot for _Trance_ , that’s gonna be a double feature with _Muse Illusion_ ,” then the second voice must be Donghyuck’s manager, then? “and the next day is going to be your Skype interview with _The Vertex Gazette,_ and I texted you the link to the podcast, _Craze Chronicles_ that you’re going to be guesting on after that, and,” the voice fades into obscurity as Mark walks past the open door of the changing room and towards the studio, intent on pretending that he hadn’t noticed them at all.

Why was Donghyuck’s manager here? He hadn’t seen him at all, earlier in the day. There’d been no indication that he’d come down to Busan with them, either—it’s not like managers were needed whenever they filmed on location.

Not to mention, Donghyuck’s manager is a notoriously enigmatic figure—in all the years Mark had been working with Donghyuck, he’d only seen the man two or three times. If he were to be put in a lineup of ten other random men, Mark would be hard-pressed to point him out.

It takes a few minutes of rummaging around the set before Mark finally spots his coat, slung over the back of a chair in the corner. He lets out a soundless sigh of relief at not having to walk back in the cold without a jacket. Fully intending to slip past Donghyuck and his manager on his way back out, it’s when Mark hears Donghyuck’s voice that he comes to a standstill, right by the door, where a dim yellow light spills out from between the cracks.

“I’m sorry,” says Donghyuck, sounding uncharacteristically meek. Maybe ‘meek’ isn’t the right word, either. He just sounds exhausted. “I know I should have responded, but…”

“No excuses,” his manager interrupts, and even though his voice is steady and rather quiet, the edge of steel in it sends chills running down Mark’s spine. “Do better.”

“Yes,” says Donghyuck. “I will.”

Mark hears Donghyuck’s manager begin to speak again, but he can’t stand to listen to them anymore. He hurries to leave, closing the back door behind him with a quiet click. He doesn’t like hearing Donghyuck sound like that, without the annoying nasal lilt that speaks of confidence, of an inherent smugness that drips from every word. Donghyuck might piss Mark off on the regular, but it’s what he’s used to—seeing him stripped of everything that makes him _him_ is unsettling, and something uncomfortable and cold coils in his gut at the thought.

The walk back to his and Taeyong’s shared room is a quiet one, punctuated by the gentle sway of the waves, a kind of silence that was deafening.

Absentmindedly, Mark fiddles with his phone. It’s old and the screen is cracked to hell—he’s always been the type of person who used things to their limits, the type who hated giving up on things that worked _perfectly well_ , thankyouverymuch. As he skims through a few unanswered texts—Jeno, mostly—Mark’s suddenly struck with the strangest sense of homesickness, a desire to hear his mom’s voice.

It’s just past midnight—it’s a little late to be calling her, but Mark dials the number anyways.

He sees a bench, just by the hotel entrance, and settles there to wait.

“Minhyung?” His mother answers, voice hoarse with sleep. “Is everything alright, baby?”

“Eomma,” he says, and comes back to himself, the childish desire of wanting to talk to his mom dissipating in wake of the realization that he’s a grown adult who can’t seem to handle even on night away from home. “Sorry, did I wake you? I’ll hang up.”

“Ah, no, don’t hang up,” he hears shuffling on the other end of the line, the quiet murmur of his mother reassuring his father. “What’s up? Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Mark says sheepishly. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay,” she bites back a yawn. “Filming’s done? Did you eat? Are you in bed?”

He smiles fondly at her mother-henning. As a teenager, he’d been annoyed whenever she fussed. As an adult, he’s only thankful for it. “Yeah, filming’s done. I ate—just some kimbap on set earlier that Doyoung-hyung bought for us. I’m outside right now. The weather’s really nice by the beach, just a little bit cold.”

“You should go to bed,” she scolds, “don’t catch a cold!”

“I will, I will. I’m just… not tired.”

He swings his feet aimlessly, kicking at the gravel. His fingers are dry and pink with cold, and his nose is running. Even still, he doesn’t want to go inside, a strange restlessness sparking beneath his skin.

“Are you sure everything’s alright?” His mother asks suspiciously. “You usually don’t call so late.”

“Because I’m usually at home,” he points out, and laughs a little. “Yeah, everything’s fine, I promise. I’m just… thinking, I guess.”

“That’s new,” she says, teasingly, laughing when Mark makes a quiet noise of protest. “What are you thinking about, baby?”

“I… I overheard a conversation,” he hedges. “Between Donghyuck and his manager. It seems like Donghyuck is doing a lot of work outside of filming, too…”

“And you’re concerned?” His mother guesses. “Do you feel as though you’re falling behind?”

He’s silent—she’s hit the nail on the head, because Mark has always been prone to insecurity, even when he knows that it’s pointless most of the time. He’s always felt mediocre, the result of a forced work ethic disguised as talent. He’s never been the most personable—well-liked but helplessly introverted, the kind of person who’s never been designed for a work in the spotlight.

“I don’t know,” he says instead, doesn’t want to say that finding out these things about Donghyuck makes him feel strange, like he doesn’t even recognize the one person whose position in his life has always been a constant. Donghyuck’s always existed in this position as his ‘rival’, the one person who he could measure himself against. Someone near his age, who’d grown up in the same world as he had—a childhood lost to cameras, to the peculiar playground-esque experience of growing up in a professional, plastic world.

Now, though, two years out of the business and rusty, Mark feels as though he’s an outsider looking in, delegated to the back of the line in which all he sees is the faint outline of the back of Donghyuck’s head, the line of his shoulders which had never seemed so straight or broad before.

“It’s just new,” Mark decides, eventually, after the silence has dragged on an uncomfortable amount. “It’s a little weird suddenly being back to work after so long.”

“Baby,” he hears the fondness in his mother’s voice, the melancholy that wraps around her syllables. “It’s so difficult, knowing that you’re growing up away from me.”

“I’m not,” he says, and furrows his brows. “Plus, I’m literally coming back to Seoul in two days.”

“You _are_ growing up,” she continues. “And there are things that I won’t be able to protect you from, baby, things that you have to figure out on your own. You know I love you, right? I’ll always be supporting you, Minhyung-ah. These things, though…” she trails off.

“I know,” Mark sighs. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” she tells him. “It’s just something that you’ll have to work through on your own. Be nice to Donghyuck-ah!”

Mark laughs, a brittle thing. “I _am_ nice.” But the usual fire he feels every time he thinks about Lee Donghyuck doesn’t ignite. A rivalry implies a degree of equality, this idea that they’re on equal standing. But Mark feels like he’s on quicksand, sliding down into oblivion, left with only the strange sense of being explicitly overtaken.

“Eomma,” he says. “Thank you for picking up. I think I’ll take a walk to clear my head, actually.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Eomma. Love you, bye.”

“Love you too, baby.”

And silence. Mark sighs, pocketing his phone again, and tilting his head back to look at the sky. The stars in Busan aren’t visible, only the faint grey of clouds backlit by the moon. It’s even colder now, but Mark decides that maybe he _should_ actually take a walk to try and get out of his own head.

Halfway down the shore he spots another person, who’s standing at the very edge of the surf, where the ocean meets the shore, and the water laps at their feet. Mark squints, somehow hesitant to draw closer.

It’s Donghyuck.

Donghyuck is standing at the very edge of the sea, head tilted up to face the sky, hands tucked safely in the pockets of his long coat. He looks small, and lonely, stark against the darkness. It’s utterly bizarre, seeing him like this, quiet and alone and contemplative. He’s too far for Mark to make out the details of his expression—all he sees is the vague blur of his profile, only recognizable by the carefully disheveled the mess of his hair.

Mark comes to a standstill, watches as Donghyuck bends down to take something from the sand—a rock, or perhaps a shell—before standing back upwards to throw it into the sea. It makes Mark feel vaguely voyeuristic, as though he’s watching something he shouldn’t. The uncomfortable, icy coil in his gut worsens. He feels, distinctly, as though he should be anywhere else but here.

He’s a coward. It’s what he’s always been. For once in his life, he doesn’t think about picking a fight with Lee Donghyuck, and instead thinks about leaving him be.

He turns on his heel and departs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/epistolarymoon) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/letterstothemoon)


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